


Of Sirens and Soul-Eaters

by riahk



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Urban Fantasy, Demons, F/M, Minor Caspar von Bergliez/Linhardt von Hevring, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-13
Updated: 2020-08-15
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:15:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 55,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23123851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/riahk/pseuds/riahk
Summary: Rising starlet Dorothea Arnault is taking the city of Garreg Mach by storm — unbeknownst to one Sylvain Jose Gautier who, after a fateful drunk encounter, makes it his mission to win over the mysterious singer all his friends have been talking about.But Dorothea has a big secret, and big plans for Sylvain in particular. As the two grow closer, Sylvain begins to unravel her past, and manages to uncover Garreg Mach's dark underbelly of magic and mayhem hidden just under his nose.
Relationships: Dorothea Arnault/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 4
Kudos: 30





	1. Hangover From Hell

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a tweet and wonderful art from @sylvthea: https://twitter.com/sylvthea/status/1237157616121458690
> 
> 'a dorothea/sylvain au wherein dorothea is a demoness hired by sylvain’s exes to break his heart and drain his soul'
> 
> I am in love with this concept and this pair, I just had to write it.

At twenty-seven years of age, Sylvain Jose Gautier had had his share of bad hangovers. But this one really took the cake. Snatched it up, flew it across the country, roughed it up a bit and then dumped it in the ocean. His brain was feeling more scrambled than the eggs he couldn’t muster up the energy to make right now. It pounded in his head as he rolled over haphazardly in the sheets, fished the phone out of his jeans pocket and blinded his eyes with its full level of brightness. He let out an anguished groan, turned away, steeled himself and looked back. Gotta power through it, man. Come on.

He went straight to the top of his speed-dial and called Felix. It went to voicemail after one ring, which meant that his best friend was very pissed off at him and refused to hear his lovely voice. Which was pretty normal for a Saturday morning, but still very frustrating. Sylvain tiredly opened his messenger app and typed at the speed of light:

 **> Sylvain:** felixx, pleeeeease. biblical level hangover. need you to take care of me :((((

While he was in there he caught a glimpse of the time. 2:36 PM. A bit later than usual but still pretty standard hangover. He hit send and flopped his arm down on the mattress, his other hand massaging his temples.

“You idiot! I’m in your living room. God.”

Sylvain groaned, half-performatively, pushing himself up to a seat. If Felix was here already — and potentially even crashed on his couch — it must be pretty bad. The last time this happened was when he hit on Edelgard at Dimitri’s birthday, and he ‘mysteriously’ blacked out later, after foolishly accepting a drink from Hubert. His memory of the previous night was spotty, but he knew for sure he hadn’t made _that_ mistake again. “Too tired! Can’t move,” he yelled, or at least tried to. His voice was hoarse.

He heard a loud sigh from downstairs and soft footsteps on the stairs, growing louder, then stopping outside the door. “You better not be naked,” Felix said with a knock. The door opened a couple seconds later when Sylvain didn’t protest.

“Aaaw, I thought you loved seeing me naked,” he sang. Felix was in the same sleeveless turtleneck from last night, but he’d clearly raided Sylvain’s closet for a pair of sweatpants that were too big for him. And his pulled-back hair was messier than usual. Definitely stayed over. “You look lovely, sweetheart. I feel my hangover dissipating already,” he said with a grin.

“Save it,” Felix said. “I’m hungover too, you know.” He picked up Sylvain’s shirt from the floor and threw it at him, waltzing over toward the window. “Let there be light,” he warned, drawing the curtains back dramatically and flooding the room with sun. Sylvain shielded his eyes with the t-shirt in his hands.

“Hungover? I don’t hear _that_ too often,” he said, adjusting to the newly illuminated room. “It must be bad if you had to sleep in the living room.” He patted the spot next to him. “You should’ve joined me in here.”

Felix scoffed, sitting on the edge of the bed. “It’s not that bad, and that isn’t why I slept over,” he began. His expression was puzzlement mixed with concern. “You really don’t remember last night, do you?” Sylvain tensed up as Felix retrieved his phone from his pocket. He scrolled silently for a few moments while Sylvain tried his best to piece together his memory of the previous night. He still hadn’t remembered anything when Felix passed the phone to him. It was a text from an unknown number.

 **> Unknown:** You’re Sylvain Gautier’s friend, right? I need you to come pick him up from the lobby.

There were no other messages in the correspondence.

—

“So let me get this straight,” Sylvain said, taking a sip from his coffee. Felix sat across from him, two platefuls of greasy diner food between them. “We all go out to the big Hresvelg party at Edelgard’s uncle’s hotel.” He took a moment to stab a potato with his fork. “I do my usual thing—” he took a bite, chewed and swallowed. “And then around 2 in the morning you get this weird text to come pick me up in the lobby?”

Felix sighed and nodded, chin resting on his hands.

Sylvain continued. “And when you find me in the lobby I’m not acting like my normal blackout-drunk self. I’m speaking gibberish or something.”

“Tongues. You were speaking in tongues,” Felix said. “And you had this dumb grin on your face. Dumber than usual, I mean. Weirdly euphoric.” He fixed Sylvain with a hard stare. “I took you home and you calmed down a bit, but I stayed in case you decided to do anything stupid.”

“That was nice of you,” Sylvain said. “Thanks.” He was racking his brain still, trying to remember even a piece of the night. “I mean, I’m not missing my wallet or anything. Maybe someone slipped me shrooms and I had a bit too much.”

“Maybe,” Felix said. He was reading something on his phone. “Bernadetta is asking me if you’re alright. I told her you’re hungover, but maybe you should tell her yourself.”

Right, Sylvain thought. Bernie had been at the party too. He definitely remembered talking to her about the novel she was working on, and she’d told him she had no time with her actual job. When Sylvain was drunk he tended to talk to her about her amazing storytelling skills and how she was wasting her time writing dumb ranked lists for internet blog sites pretending to be news. Bernadetta always acted offended but he could tell she agreed with him. He picked his phone up from the table and navigated to his last conversation with her.

 **> Bernie V:** Are you going to the Hresvelg party tonight? Edelgard asked me but I’m not sure if I’m feeling it…

 **> Sylvain:** When are you ever feeling a party?

 **> Sylvain:** Anyway, Felix and I will definitely be there so you should go ;)

 **> Bernie V:** Hmmmmmmmmmm. Okay, I’ll see you guys there. But it’s definitely not because you sent me a winky face

 **> Bernie V:** Hey, are you alright? Felix was looking for you, said he got a weird text from someone…

The last message was marked as read, but he obviously didn’t remember seeing it. He typed a response out to her and she got back to him within a minute.

 **> Sylvain:** Hey, yea, I’m getting breakfast with Felix at Kirsten’s Diner right now. Yes, I know it’s almost dinner time

 **> Bernie V:** Oh my god, I’m just glad you’re okay. You were acting so weird

 **> Bernie V:** Also, is that who I think it is in your story?

 **> Sylvain:** My what?

He opened up his instagram immediately after. “Hey Felix, check my insta story,” he said. Felix rolled his eyes, but Sylvain’s request seemed to have piqued his interest enough. “Bernie said something about someone in it, but I have no idea who she’s talking about.”

“You really don’t spare the details, do you,” Felix mumbled sarcastically, eyes still directed at his phone. Sylvain stood up and walked over, ignoring his own screen in favor of Felix’s. Felix grunted in protest as Sylvain leaned in next to his face.

There were several stories on his profile — he was pretty prolific on social media. He smiled at the photo of a fancy smoothie he’d plastered with random emoji and the hashtag ‘#tgif’, which Felix quickly skipped over angrily. “You’re fucking addicted to these dumb filters,” he mumbled. “Oh, here’s the party.” It was a shot Sylvain had taken of the crowd, greeting random people, most of whom recognized him. He already sounded pretty drunk. The timestamp read 11:30pm. “Nothing interesting so far… wait.”

The next video was taken with the front-facing camera. Sylvain was singing along — badly — to whatever song was playing in the background. “Aw yea, this is my jam,” Sylvain said.

Felix sighed. “You’re missing the point,” he said, pointing to the other person in the video with him. It was a woman with long brown hair, flawless makeup and an even more flawless voice. She stopped momentarily to turn to Sylvain, resting her head on his shoulder.

“I’m pretty good, aren’t I?” Sylvain asked her in the video. “Don’t quit your day job, sweetie,” she replied. The post was followed by several selfies of the two in varying locations, the last on what looked like a balcony. Sylvain cheered and Felix groaned; the mystery girl was planting a kiss on his cheek, one arm swung around his neck. He’d captioned it with the message ‘jackpot!’ followed by several hearts and a surprised emoji.

“You’re incorrigible,” Felix said, but then his face got serious. “But that girl.. Isn’t that Dorothea Arnault?” He scrolled back through the photos and the singing video. “She definitely sounds like her…”

Sylvain sat back down, thinking. “Dorothea… that singer?” The name was familiar, but he’d never met her before last night. “She moved into town a few months ago, but I haven’t had a chance to see her perform yet.”

“I mean, it sure looks like you have now,” Felix said.

“Heh, yeah, I guess,” Sylvain replied. He suddenly wished he could remember more of his night. “Glad I took these pictures,” he added, scrolling back through his story. Felix stood up.

“I gotta head out, I’m getting dinner with Annette,” he said. He stepped over to Sylvain, snapping his fingers to catch his attention. “Look, I’m glad you’re feeling better. Please don’t do anything stupid with Dorothea, alright? I don’t know if she had anything to do with what happened to you last night, but just... be careful.”

Sylvain smiled genuinely. “Thanks, Fe. It means a lot. Tell Annie I said hi,” he added with a wink. Felix stepped out and he went back to his text chain with Bernadetta.

 **> Sylvain:** You’re talking about Dorothea? The singer?

 **> Bernie V:** Yea. I didn’t know you were acquainted!

 **> Sylvain:** We weren’t, but we are now! You know her?

 **> Bernie V:** I’ve hung out with her a few times, she knows Edelgard. Her uncle owns a production company, remember?

 **> Sylvain:** Riiiight. Guess I’ll have to check out her music later

 **> Bernie V:** You haven’t heard her before??? Have you been living under a rock the past six months?

 **> Sylvain:** That is painful to hear from you, wow

 **> Sylvain:** No, I haven’t

 **> Bernie V:** She’s playing a small gig at Marianne’s cafe next Thursday. You should check it out

 **> Sylvain:** For sure! Give me the deets later

 **> Bernie V:** Will do

He leaned back in the seat, his head still slightly aching. Luckily he had no plans later, since his body still felt completely drained and he was about ready for another nap. Whatever happened last night really did a number on him, he thought. He found himself going back to his posts, focusing on the background and the sounds in hopes it would jog his memory. Dorothea’s voice really was beautiful, and only seemed to get more so the longer he listened to the short clip. Thursday couldn’t come sooner.

There was also something about her expression, and the way she carried herself, that felt threatening and powerful. In most of their photos she wasn’t looking at the camera but rather at him, with mischief in her eyes. She also looked significantly less drunk than him, controlled and competent and… sexy. Sylvain couldn’t help but smile.

“Dorothea Arnault… just who are you?”

—

Thursday arrived without much incident, and Sylvain found himself arriving at Marianne’s Cafe well before the event began. The owner herself happened to be there, and stepped out from the kitchen to say hello as he walked in the door, bells jingling behind him. “Hey, Marianne,” he said. “Looking as beautiful as ever, I see,” he added, prompting a smile from his friend. She tucked a strand of light blue hair behind her ear.

“Long time no see, Sylvain,” she replied. “I take it you’re here for Dorothea’s performance?”

“That and a coffee, of course,” he said, noticing the small alcove where a microphone and sound system was partially set up. Marianne nodded, signalling something to the barista while Sylvain continued. “It seems everybody knows Dorothea but me, huh?”

“Don’t play dumb, Gautier,” a voice called out from behind him. He turned around to meet the tiny flash of pink that was Hilda Valentine Goneril, who was looking at him with significantly more annoyance than usual. “I saw you two at the party last Friday night. And your dumb instagram stories. You really have no shame, do you?”

Leave it to Hilda to know all the latest gossip around town, Sylvain thought. “Nice to see you too. I take it you’re the one who got her to perform here, Hilda?” She nodded triumphantly, but didn’t soften her expression. Marianne took the opportunity to sneak away from them.

“I did, and I absolutely love her, so don’t fuck this up for me, okay? If you act like a tool, and she sees me talking to you, what’s she gonna think of me?” She looked away, exhaling deeply. “Okay, maybe I’m getting a bit carried away. But she is insanely cool and has an insanely good voice, so I’m pretty excited to have her here tonight.” Her eyes were on him again, frowning. “And she did talk to you at that party even after I told her you’re like, a total playboy heartbreaker so I’m sure she can handle herself—”

“Hilda! You have got to stop telling people that!” Sylvain said, raising his hands defensively.

“What, like I’m wrong?”

“I mean– I–”

Marianne showed up behind him, handing him a coffee while Sylvain fished a five dollar bill out of his wallet and handed it to her, mumbling thanks. “It’s true that you go through girlfriends extremely quickly, Sylvain. If you can even call them that,” she said. Sylvain sighed, exasperated.

“Not you too, Marianne,” he replied, taking a sip of the coffee before realizing it was too hot, burning his tongue. Hilda noticed and snorted. “Anyway, it’s not like I’m dating Dorothea. I don’t even remember meeting her,” he said.

Hilda looked taken aback by this. “Wow. That’s impressive, even for you,” she said. “You’re telling me you managed to seduce her while completely blackout drunk?”

Sylvain lowered his voice. “I didn’t sleep with her, okay? At least, I don’t think I did. Felix had to pick me up from the lobby because I was so out of it,” he added.

“Who didn’t you sleep with, Sylvain?” The voice came from the door, which Sylvain hadn’t even noticed open earlier. His heart dropped as he turned, face to face with Ingrid. Damn her and her inconvenient timing. “Usually I’m hearing the opposite, so this is news to me,” she added, giving a wave to Hilda and Marianne.

Sylvain sighed. That’s it, he was at his limit. He took his coffee and stepped away, slumping into an armchair near the window, close enough to give him a decent view of the speaker system. He would just sit here quietly until the show started, he thought. His heart was beating quickly, and he realized he was actually very nervous about meeting this girl. That didn’t happen too often — was it because she was a singer? He’d always had a thing for beautiful voices. Or maybe it was the fact that all his female friends seemed to already know about her and were suddenly acting like her protective father. He settled on both.

His thoughts were interrupted by Ingrid sliding into the armchair across from him, her blue eyes staring him down. Sylvain looked away out the window, going for another sip of his coffee before realizing it was already empty. “Not now, Ingrid. I’m having a difficult afternoon,” he said.

He expected her to make some snide comment about how ‘difficult’ was relative, but instead she just looked at him sympathetically, smiling with concern. This calmed him down, and he felt his shoulders relax a bit. After a moment of silence he spoke. “I take it you also know Dorothea, then?”

Ingrid sighed, eyes shifting. “I do. I’ve been to several of her shows since she moved here, and she’s hit on me at most of them,” she said. Her cheeks suddenly flushed as she processed her own words. “Oh, n-not that I took her up on that or anything! I just think she has an amazing voice. And she’s fun to talk to.”

Sylvain laughed. One day he hoped Ingrid would actually go on a date with another woman, and it was only partly for selfish (sexy) reasons. “Not sure if you heard already, but I met her at the Hresvelg party last Friday. Except I was so drunk that I don’t remember it at all.” He’d tried so hard to remember, too. And the more he learned about Dorothea the more he wished he could, but it turned out his memory was a bitch.

“Oh goodness, really?” Ingrid processed this for a moment. “So you have no idea what to expect tonight, do you? For all you know you totally rubbed her the wrong way — uh, figuratively, of course,” she said. Sylvain groaned, resting his forehead on the table, defeated.

“Not helping, Ingrid,” he said. “But I do have some photos,” he added, opening up his archives and flipping through them for her. “See? She looks like she had fun. I probably didn’t say anything towards the end of the night to make her hate me. Probably!” Oof, now he wasn’t helping himself, either. Ingrid was catching onto his self-sabotage and waved her hand dismissively.

“Don’t worry about it too much,” she said, placing her hand lightly on his. “Dorothea doesn’t seem like the type to let a man break her heart, so I’m sure she’s fine. Might be a bit confused when you don’t remember anything from the party, though.” Sylvain nodded, and Ingrid checked her wristwatch. “She’ll be here around 6:30 to get set up, I think. Don’t get too worked up in the next forty minutes, alright?”

“For sure. Thanks, Ingrid. I don’t think I’d survive without you,” Sylvain said. Ingrid rolled her eyes. She already knew that, but it was still nice to hear him say it.

—

Dorothea arrived at precisely 6:47. Sylvain knew this because he saw her through the window just as he checked his phone again compulsively, then proceeded to wonder if she’d noticed him or even recognized his face. Ingrid peeked up from her book, concerned. “Here we go,” she said, watching Sylvain turn in his seat, eyes glued to the door. And women called this man smooth, she thought.

Hilda and Marianne greeted her as she walked in, smiling and motioning to the sound system. She followed their gesture, sweeping her eyes across the rest of the cafe and resting momentarily on the section he and Ingrid were sitting in. Sylvain waved weakly, but Dorothea didn’t seem to notice, and he realized she was leveling an impish grin at Ingrid. He couldn’t decide if this was a blessing or a curse. Either way, she had begun walking towards them, and he was about to find out.

“Good evening, my lovely Ingrid,” she sang, giving the other girl a tight, lingering hug as she stood up. “I’m so glad you made it!” Ingrid smiled, blushing again, then motioned to Sylvain as he got up from his seat as well. “Mmm, we meet again, Sylvain,” she said, bumping her hips to one side and peering up at him with emerald eyes.

She was even more beautiful in person. In the pictures she’d been all in crimson and dark, dramatic eyeshadow, but today’s look was more subdued, elegant. She wore a white wrap dress with flowy sleeves and a skirt that hit right above her knees, completed by strappy brown sandals with a slight heel. Not that she needed them, as Sylvain could see she was quite tall. She clearly loved jewelry, dangly silver flashing in her ears, along her neck and wrists and fingers. And her slender oval face showed only a slight hint of makeup, a deep red lipstick standing out against lightly contoured skin. Chestnut curls cascaded down past her shoulders, and Sylvain tried not to look much further down than there. He wasn’t staring, was he?

“Nice to see you, Dorothea,” he said, opting for a handshake. She didn’t protest, slim fingers gripping him, blood-red nails tapping lightly against his skin. “I didn’t know you knew Ingrid,” he said, trying to keep the conversation focused away from him and instead on someone he knew Dorothea already liked. Ingrid looked at him pleadingly, clearly flustered. He’d have to give her another big thank you later.

"Oh, we've been having so much fun at my shows," Dorothea said, watching Ingrid affectionately. "I'm hoping I can see her off the stage sometime soon," she teased. Then she met his eyes, and he saw that spark of mayhem again. "She's mentioned you a couple times. The childhood friend with a reputation that precedes him," she said. Sylvain gulped. He'd gotten pretty good at noticing when a girl was secretly mad at him for something, but Dorothea was difficult to read. If his drunk self had done something to offend her last Friday, she sure wasn't acting like it.

He decided to play along and assume nothing untoward had transpired. "Yea, Ingrid's known me for a while. Long enough to compile some pretty embarrassing stories," he said, giving his friend a playful look. "I like to think I keep things interesting," he added. Ingrid rolled her eyes.

Dorothea laughed, and even that came out like a melody. "That's one word for it," she said. Then her expression changed. "Anyway, I'm running late, I need to set up. But enjoy the show!"

Sylvain and Ingrid exchanged looks again. "Oh, I'm gonna," he said determinedly to himself as they walked away.

—

Several more of Sylvain's friends arrived before the show started. Bernadetta swung by his chair, laptop and a notebook in hand. "It's for work, unfortunately," she said when Sylvain eyed her hopefully. Annette walked in with Mercedes and, somewhat surprisingly, Felix in tow. The latter gave him a suspicious look.

"Of course you're here," he said, waving absentmindedly to Ingrid. Then, anticipating Sylvain's question: "Annette knows her. Community choir."

Annette shushed them before they could exchange more words. "Let's get seats, she's starting!"

The lights in the place were dimmed slightly, the usual cafe hustle now taking a backseat to the woman sitting at the microphone, legs crossed on her seat and an acoustic guitar in her hands. A soundboard was seated on her right. Dorothea smiled gently, introduced herself and scanned the room briefly. Sylvain felt a shiver run down his spine when they locked eyes for a split-second, but it didn't compare to what happened when she started playing.

Her voice was simultaneously soft and energetic, down to earth and ethereal. She maneuvered her guitar with ease, occasionally adding a beat or effect with the soundboard, but her lips were the real instrument. And Sylvain found the whole world melted away as he listened. Even when the songs ended and she'd make a quick comment through the applause, she maintained a rhythm and energy that captivated him. At one point, a few songs in, they made eye contact again and it felt like they were the only two people in the room.

Yeah, Ingrid and Felix would probably give him shit for that last thought. He'd keep that one to himself.

After seven songs she stopped, took a sip of water and a long silence fell over the room. "I planned some time for covers," she said. "Any requests?"

The room buzzed with suggestions, and she tried her best to accommodate all of them. She played through Alanis Morisette's "Ironic" like it had actually been written by her, and flawlessly interlaced her personality into The Cranberries' "Linger". After several renditions, Sylvain spoke up.

"How about 'Before He Cheats'?"

Dorothea looked at him, intrigued. "What an interesting idea, Mr. Gautier," she said. "I find myself incapable of saying no."

Good, Sylvain thought; she'd already begun playing before he could say another word. The song's country twang filled the room and he got ready for the fireworks. " _Right now_ ," Dorothea started, her voice full of heat. Sylvain drank it up, too engrossed to even grin mischievously at Felix, who he knew couldn't stand this song. "You like that shit for the completely wrong reasons," he would say. Maybe, Sylvain thought, feeling his heart race as Dorothea hit the chorus.

" _Carved my name into his leather seats_ ," she belted out. Forget the car, Sylvain thought. He wanted Dorothea to do that to _him_.

The song faded out, and he floated back down to reality. She took a couple more requests and finished up with two more of her own songs, but Sylvain’s mind was still in a daze for a couple minutes after the set was finished. He was vaguely aware of Bernadetta waltzing over and waving a hand in front of his face. Ingrid and the others were in a crowd talking to Dorothea while Marianne and Hilda helped her break down. “Earth to Sylvain,” she said. He had to take a moment to adjust to a voice that wasn’t Dorothea’s.

“Hey Bern,” he greeted distractedly, focusing on Bernadetta’s soft, round face. “Quite the show, huh?”

Bernadetta chuckled. “I mean, yeah,” she said. “I’ve seen it before. You don’t think you’re being a bit dramatic over here?”

“When is he _not_ being dramatic,” Felix interjected, walking over from across the room. He fixed Sylvain with an annoyed stare. “I can’t believe you requested that fucking song,” he said. Then, turning to Bernadetta: “Did you know a girl once actually did that to Sylvain’s car? More or less, I mean. It’s like he loves punishment.”

“Fascinating,” came a voice from behind Felix, accompanied by the clack of heels on the tile. Dorothea had strolled over, guitar case slung across her back. “Sounds like I’ve got a masochist on my hands,” she added. Sylvain stared up at her dreamily, too distracted by the way she loomed over his chair to speak. She ignored him, addressing the group: “A few of us are grabbing a drink at the bar down the street, if you want to join.”

Sylvain looked eagerly at Felix, still tongue-tied. “Yea, I could go for a beer,” his friend said, giving him another weird look. Sylvain hopped up, so quickly that he got dizzy for a second. Felix turned to Dorothea, his eyes tired. “Sylvain wants to go, too.”

Dorothea giggled, clapping her hands together decisively. “Perfect. He can buy me a drink,” she said, already halfway to the door.

—

Sylvain leaned against the bar counter, raising his voice over the sound of rock music flooding his ears. “Two old fashioneds please,” he said, holding up his fingers. “Put it on the Gautier tab,” he added, watching the bartender turn to the liquor shelf. They probably didn’t need him to specify the name, he came here often enough. He turned around and bumped his hip on something hard, watching as Dorothea maneuvered her guitar case between the two of them. “Excuse me ma’am, you got a permit for that?”

She took a seat on the stool, one hand on the case to steady it, looking up at him with a smile. “I don’t, officer. That gonna be a problem?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Little respect for authority. Noted,” he said. The bartender slid their drinks over to him, and he handed the glass to her ceremoniously. She raised it towards his, meeting in a soft clink.

“To breaking the rules,” she said, taking a big sip and the seat next to him, one finger still stabilizing the guitar case. She felt it stop wobbling as Sylvain gripped its neck, leaning it against the leg of his stool. “Hey, careful with that,” she chided, giving his hand a light smack. When she saw the case had stopped moving she gave up and focused on the drink, eyeing Sylvain silently. The bar chattered around them, noisy but not too loud or crowded, considering it was only 9:30pm on a Thursday. Felix, Bernadetta and a few others were standing around a high table in another corner of the bar, seemingly giving the two of them space. “So I take it they all know what happened at the party last weekend,” Dorothea started.

The statement surprised Sylvain. He hadn’t expected her to bring up anything about their first meeting, and in fact had been betting on it. “Oh, well…” he fumbled for a moment before deciding he should just be as truthful as possible. “They know about as much as I do, since I kinda blacked out and don’t remember most of that night,” he said. “Believe me, I wish I did! You’d be a pretty memorable woman under normal circumstances.”

“Oh, I figured you were too shit-faced to remember much,” Dorothea giggled. “But! Luckily you’ve preserved some of our fateful encounter through the power of social media addiction,” she said, waggling her fingers dramatically. Sylvain joined her laughter, and she lowered her hands, expression turning pensive. “It is a bit weird though, a bit like…” she began leaning forward, her voice lowering as she grew closer to him.

“A bit like you’re being watched, yeah?” Sylvain asked, pulling in her direction. Dorothea nodded up at him, eyes passing over his for a moment. “Uh, something wrong?” he said, watching as her focus settled on something just beyond him.

“Nothing, just zoning out for a moment,” Dorothea said, trying to meet his gaze again, but Sylvain had already turned around. He seemed enthralled by something now. “Sylvain?”

He liked hearing his name sung in her voice, but it didn’t change the fact that something else was suddenly distracting him, a familiar face sticking out from the crowd. “Sorry, this is kinda awkward,” he began, swiveling back around. “One of my ex-girlfriends is over there,” he said. Dorothea didn’t appear to react strongly to this, or at least wasn’t concerned. “Mind if I just keep looking at you for a little bit to forget I saw her?”

This got her laughing again. “Impressive. You really turned that situation around,” she mused. “Almost as if it was planned.”

And that got Sylvain laughing. “For someone familiar with my reputation, you should know most of my exes wouldn’t want much to do with me, let alone help me plot to pick-up another woman,” he said, leaning back. “But you didn’t answer my question.”

Dorothea rose from the stool, her hand lightly gripping him just above his left knee. She was leaned in inches from his torso, eyes nearly level with his. “Go ahead,” she said. “But maybe the patio would be a better place?”

Sylvain was suddenly alert, waves of anticipation rippling out from where Dorothea had touched him. Her hand slid away as he stood, and he was vaguely aware of mumbling a “yes, good idea.” He moved the guitar into Dorothea’s hands, placing his palm on the small of her back as they weaved through the crowd towards the back door. Cool night air greeted them, the patio quiet and empty.

They leaned against the wall, basking in the silence and lack of an audience. “I’ve been meaning to say, you have an absolutely stunning voice,” Sylvain said, turning to watch as Dorothea fiddled with her curls. She grinned knowingly. “But I suppose you’re aware of that already,” he added. Her hands stilled and she crossed her arms, avoiding his gaze. Sylvain didn’t mind this. “So you’ve been in Garreg Mach for around six months now, right? How are you enjoying it?”

Dorothea pushed away from the wall decisively, pivoting to face him, right hand braced against the wall inches from his bicep. Something flickered in her eyes as she stared up at him, her body still rigid and controlled, like she was waiting for a signal to strike. “It’s an adjustment from Enbarr,” she began, her voice low and smooth. “But the crowds are smaller and more manageable, and it has a solid music scene. Plus—” she shifted her weight back and forth between her hips, inching closer. “I’ve met some lovely people.”

Sylvain reached a hand around her waist, feeling the silky material of her dress, and she turned fluid at the touch. They closed the gap between them, his shoulders and hips digging into the wall as Dorothea fell flush against him, face so close he could feel her quiet breaths. He was aware of his own growing ragged. “Can’t say you’re one of them,” she whispered, kissing him before he could respond. Her lips were soft, he thought as he pulled his arms around her tighter, feeling her thigh slowly grinding into him. He inhaled sharply as she ran her hand along his hip bone, sliding up along the fabric of his shirt and hooking into the crook of his neck. Her nails tugged lightly against his skin, vaguely threatening.

His hand moved downward from her low back, cupping her ass. She kissed him harder, teeth nibbling on the edge of his bottom lip. "Fuck, Dorothea," he breathed. She used this opportunity to take hold of his other wrist, moving it aside before pinning it to the brick behind them. Sylvain moaned softly as she maneuvered her lips across the edge of his chin and down his neck, her fingers finding his hair.

As ravenous as she seemed, there was a calculating focus with which she moved, like she knew exactly what she wanted to do with him. Sylvain found himself swept along, a lightness building in his chest and head, the only thought on his mind her name. Dorothea, Dorothea, Dorothea. He barely even noticed the wall behind him now, saw it only as a means for her to hold him there, tie him to this moment.

She slowed suddenly, as if prompted, her grip on his wrist loosening, her fingers padding along his temple and lightly massaging his earlobe. He straightened his body and they both shifted, his arms now resting on her hips. Dorothea looked up at him and he planted one last, long kiss before she leaned her cheek on his chest. He could feel his heartbeat thumping as she swayed against him, rocking along with the undulations of his chest. Sylvain didn't dare speak.

“As much as I’d love to continue this,” Dorothea whispered, “I’m thinking maybe we should go on an actual date first,” she said.

“What, this doesn’t count?” Sylvain asked, running his fingers up and down her spine. Dorothea broke away, but not without giving him a devilish smile. “Not that I object to the idea.”

She twirled around to lean on the wall next to him, their arms pressed against each other. Her hand swung down to the waistline of his jeans, and before he could stop her she’d maneuvered the phone out of his back pocket. “Then this is the part where you ask for my number,” she sang, dangling the device playfully in front of Sylvain’s nose. He swiped it from her hands, entered his passcode and handed it back to her. She watched him expectantly.

“Oh,” he breathed. “Right.” This time he pushed away from the wall, leaning his face toward hers, tilting her chin up delicately with the tip of his index finger. “Miss Dorothea, may I have the pleasure of receiving your phone number?”

Genuine surprise flashed across her face, and he decided he loved how she looked when she blushed. She looked down at the screen, her fingers typing furiously. “You may,” she said, handing the phone back to him with a melodramatic bow. She picked up the case by her feet as she rose back up, swinging it onto her shoulder again. “I expect to hear from you very soon,” she added as she sauntered back to the door. Sylvain could hear the music and voices in the bar again, the outside world slowly filtering back in.

He spent one final moment in the cool air to collect himself, taking inventory of all the parts of his body she’d left hungry for more. With a deep sigh he walked back inside.


	2. Room with a View

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sylvain is ready to work his charms on Dorothea. Is he doomed? Is he an idiot? The world may never know, but we can sure as hell try to. For science.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am bumping the story rating up to explicit! Not every chapter will be, instead leaning toward the initial mature rating, so I'll leave a warning at the top of all chapters it applies to. I mean, I suspect you're probably here for that sweet sweet explicit content but in case you aren't, fair warning. ;)

Kirsten’s Diner was always packed for the Friday lunch rush, but Raphael was guaranteed to keep a table open for his two best customers. Well, his second-best customers after the veritable black holes that were Felix and Leonie after a workout. In the diner’s oldest, most worn out booth, by now shoved into a tiny back corner of the restaurant, Bernadetta von Varley had holed herself up with her laptop and a massive fish sandwich, rivaled only by the heaping plate of sweet buns next to it (Raph, bless his heart, always gave her a few extra on the house).

She’d barely touched her food since it was delivered to her table, though, since her fingers were too busy dancing across the keyboard of the computer. It had been two weeks since the last time Bernadetta had found free time to work on her story, and damn if she wasn’t going to take it. She was still tired from working up until 2am the previous morning, hence the two-thirds finished coffee mug to her right, but that’s what she got for jumping on the drinks bandwagon after Dorothea’s show. After all, not even former (now borderline) recluse Bernadetta could opt to miss the great event that was Sylvain Jose Gautier Getting Dorothea Arnault’s Number.

Garreg Mach’s most eligible (?) bachelor’s ear-to-ear grin had been enough for everybody to figure out what went down on the back patio. Dorothea had stepped ahead of him, quickly saying her goodbyes to everybody before flitting away, clearly wanting to make her escape before Sylvain managed to give her reason to regret the decision. Sylvain’s shirt was open one button more than it had been when they’d arrived at the bar. That meant there was at least one more button that had been opened before he walked back in.

Bernadetta had to abandon the memory as the man himself strolled over to her table, hands stuffed in his pockets as he slid into the booth seat across from her. “Sorry I’m late, Bern,” Sylvain said. “Oooh, sweet buns! You shouldn’t have.”

She gave him a small wave, still continuing to clack away. “No worries, I’m in the zone anyway,” she replied. Sylvain’s eyes lit up at her words.

“No way, how’s the one character dealing with that thing that happened three chapters ago?” He asked absentmindedly, mouth half-full of sweet bun. Bernadetta gave him an irritated look, nudging the plate of food slightly away from him.

“The _empress’ handmaiden_ is currently investigating the death of her _former lover_ , but the trail’s running cold,” she improvised. Sylvain was nodding dumbly. “But maybe you should ask me what you’re actually dying to know, lover boy.”

Sylvain tilted his head, eyes downturned in mild embarrassment. Bernie was right that he had some burning questions for her that were entirely self-indulgent. But she was wrong about him not wanting to know about her story, too. He recovered quickly, rolling his neck back around to meet her gaze, or rather the top of her forehead as she meticulously watched her screen. “What’s Dorothea’s favorite color?”

Bernadetta’s face scrunched up in a scowl. Was this actually happening? “Wine red,” she answered. “Thought that was obvious from her wardrobe,” she added. Sylvain smiled like he’d received a revelation from the gods.

“What would her ideal first date be, do you think?”

“I don’t know, a fancy restaurant? Why don’t you ask her yourself?”

Sylvain looked like he was half processing ‘fancy restaurant’. He rested his chin on his right hand. “Because I don’t want my first text to her to read ‘Hey it’s Sylvain, that guy you gave three hickeys to last night, also what’s your favorite color?’”

Bernadetta stopped her typing and shut the laptop, watching Sylvain with a darkened expression. “You got her number last night and you haven’t messaged her yet? Not even a ‘hey’ or ‘nice to have met you’?” Sylvain shook his head. “Please tell me you’re not following one of those five-day rules or something,” she mumbled, finally paying attention to her food. When Sylvain managed not to say anything after she’d taken a few bites of her sandwich, she knew something was wrong.

“It’s three days,” he finally responded, softly, his thoughts clearly somewhere else. “I don’t know, Bern. I guess I’m just nervous. Is that so crazy to hear from me?”

She swallowed slowly, really taking a moment to observe Sylvain. He was fidgeting with the buttons on his sleeve, eyes fixed on the wall, two signs that he was in a mood. Bernadetta didn’t like to call them that, but it was the most convenient term. One that had applied to herself on multiple occasions, and was still liable to. In this situation, it was best to hit him with what he secretly already knew.

“Look, Dorothea likes to flirt but she doesn’t play games,” she began. “She’ll appreciate honest, direct communication. And it’s a bit cliche to say, but: just be yourself.” She paused to let the words sink in. Sylvain was at least making eye contact with her now, but his aura still exuded cluelessness. With a deep exhale she added: “Text her! Right now!”

“Y-yes ma’am!” Sylvain exclaimed, the spark of ingenuity flashing in his eyes as he frantically whipped out his phone and began typing. Wait a second, Bernie observed. That was the spark of idiocy. “Oh no,” Sylvain said, his fingers now still, the phone resting quietly in his hands.

Bernadetta was suddenly afraid to ask, but she did. Sylvain continued to lament, burying his face in one hand while the other weakly slid the phone across to her. She reluctantly read the messages he’d sent out:

 **> Sylvain:** Heeey, Dorothea. It’s Sylvain, that guy you gave three hickeys to last night ;)

 **> Sylvain:** Also, what’s your favorite color?

She stared blankly at it for several seconds, baffled. The fact that this man got laid as often as he did continued to impress her. “Wow,” she said, her voice deadpan. “Congratulations. You’re officially doomed.”

—

Her favorite color was, indeed, wine red. And they’d settled on a fancy restaurant for dinner. Sylvain stood in the wide, high-ceilinged lobby several feet from the hostess’ podium, adjusting the crimson tie around his neck and running another hand through his hair. Dorothea was running ten minutes late, and he knew this place was a stickler for punctuality. Though this was normally because he was the one who was temporally challenged.

“I’m sorry, she’s stuck in traffic,” he lied smoothly to the woman with the clipboard, who waved him off. In reality he hadn’t received any messages from his date in the past hour. He fixed his gaze on the long carpet rolled out over the marble, tracing its intricate pattern with his eyes.

Just as he was about to check the time again, he heard the door swing open and footsteps clicking up the small set of stairs in the front. He braced himself mentally as he turned to meet their owner. Dorothea was wearing a deep red sleeveless dress that hugged her body like a glove, a slit on the right side running to her mid-thigh and showing off her long legs. Black lace ran along the edges of the skirt and the top of her bodice, encasing the front of her neck. Her hair was half-up and adorned with a rose and crystal hair accessory that matched the earrings dangling just above her collarbones, mingling with stray curls.

Sylvain watched slowly, averting his gaze slightly as Dorothea approached. “Don’t pretend not to look,” she chided, placing a hand on his upper arm. He turned to meet her eyes and she planted a soft kiss on his cheek. He felt her hair and cool crystal brush against his neck. She leaned into his ear, voice dropping to a whisper: “Sorry I’m late. Promise I’ll make it up to you.”

She knows exactly what she’s doing, Sylvain thought. He turned to the hostess, who was already waving them over with menus in her hand. They linked arms as they walked. “You look lovely,” he said. Dorothea smiled knowingly at this too.

“Oh, this? I just threw it together last minute,” she said as they arrived at their table. They sat, and she took a moment to examine their surroundings. The place was committed to the French rococo style, complete with painted ceilings, chandeliers and candles set in the middle of their table. “I wasn’t expecting you to suggest a place so… decadent,” she added.

Sylvain held a hand to his chest, feigning discomfort. “Dorothea, are you saying I don’t exude sophistication and elegance? You wound me.”

She laughed, though he noticed a hint of uncertainty in her eyes. “I mean, you were dressed like a broke hipster last night, what was I meant to expect?” she asked, beginning to inspect the menu. “I’m assuming you found out about this place from your father,” she added absentmindedly.

“Oh, well… yes, I did,” Sylvain replied hesitantly. “His office is across the street, actually.”

Dorothea didn’t look up. “I’m aware. His name is on the building, it’s a bit difficult to miss,” she said, turning the page. Sylvain felt his stomach turn. He knew where this conversation was going. Luckily it was cut short as the waitress stopped by to take their drink orders and inform them of the specials. Sylvain asked for her recommendations and settled on a bottle of wine for the table, sending her off with a smile. “Sorry I was late, by the way,” Dorothea said, looking at him now. “It was nice out so I decided to walk, but I under-estimated the distance,” she added.

Sylvain shook his head. “Don’t worry about it. Garreg Mach has some of its best weather in May,” he said. “You live nearby, then?”

“Mmhm. In the apartment building next door to the Hresvelg Hotel,” she elaborated. Sylvain gave her a look and her ears turned pinkish — he knew for a fact those units, and most in the downtown area, were crazy expensive. Even his place, nice as it was, was a couple train stops away. “I know, I know. Trust me, I’m not loaded. I just had some of my Enbarr connections hook me up with a good deal.”

“Right, you know Edelgard von Hresvelg,” he recalled, hoping she couldn’t hear the unease in his voice as he said the heiress’ name. She frightened him, but he didn’t want Dorothea to know that. “Bernadetta told me,” he explained. Their wine arrived just then, and they both watched longingly as the server filled their glasses. Dorothea took a tentative sip, smiled approvingly, and raised her glass to his. “Cheers,” Sylvain said, observing her dreamily.

She placed her glass down, fingers playing up and down the stem. “And how do you know Bernie, exactly?” she asked. “No offense, but you don’t exactly seem like the type she’d hang out with.”

Sylvain paused before answering. Dorothea didn’t seem like the jealous type, and he surmised she was just genuinely curious. “We happened to move out here around the same time, and worked together at a publishing company for a while,” he began. “Then she got a job at this stupid blog site — she’s too good for them, but I guess it pays well — and I got busier with modeling. Plus my father asked me to come do some work for him, because nepotism is unfortunately alive and well,” he said. Dorothea was staring at him calculatingly. “Sorry, I’m rambling a bit.”

“No, I asked,” Dorothea insisted. “You like to write, then?”

He shook his head. “No, that’s Bernie. I was just messing around, trying things out,” he said. “I mean, I love to read. Love to read books.” Dorothea giggled. “Really! I know it’s unexpected, but I do,” he added. His smile diminished a bit. “I still don’t know what I want to do with my life, honestly. Thought I’d have it figured out by now.”

Dorothea lifted her glass as though she was going for another sip, but instead she just swirled it around in her palm, watching wine slosh against the sides. “Guess I’ll have to ask Bernie about her writing next time I see her,” she said, returning her gaze to him. “You sound like a good friend, Sylvain. I like that.” Sylvain felt his face reddening. “And I wouldn’t worry too much about having things figured out,” she began, placing the glass down, leaning forward with her palms on the tablecloth. “As long as you know what you want tonight,” she said, and he felt her run her foot along his leg, the point of her heel drawing a line from his ankle up to his calf.

Sylvain’s breathing wavered, and it took all his energy to remain focused on inhaling and exhaling steadily. “Of course,” he said, his gaze challenging her. They stared silently for what felt like an eternity, and he withdrew with a huff. “So then, what were you thinking for dinner? That special sounded good,” he said, looking at the menu. His date rolled her eyes, but her foot remained in place against his leg.

It’s just dinner, he thought to himself. Keep it together.

—

The rest of the meal went off without a hitch. Dorothea asked him about his work, he asked her about Enbarr (he’d never been). They ordered entrees and laughed together at the tiny portion sizes and over-the-top presentation. They argued playfully over who should pick up the check; Dorothea wanted to split it, but Sylvain triumphantly covered it. And most importantly, they finished the bottle of wine.

It was just shy of nine o' clock and the edges of the sky were clinging loosely to the last bits of sunlight, the early May warmth greeting them as they stepped out onto the sidewalk. “That was lovely,” Dorothea said, turning to her date.

“Glad you enjoyed it,” Sylvain replied with a smile, his body light and warm with alcohol. “But the night is still young, you know. Down for a little adventure?”

Dorothea raised an eyebrow suspiciously, moving closer to him. “Oh? Eager to whisk me away somewhere?” She walked her fingers up his left arm, resting a cool hand on his cheek. Sylvain lost his train of thought for a moment as she leaned in teasingly. When their faces were mere inches apart she pinched his cheek lightly, pulling back. “Lead on, then,” she said.

Sylvain rubbed his face, letting her laughter echo in his ears for a moment. “Sure thing. It’s a short walk away,” he said as he reached into his pocket, smiling apologetically. “I do need to make a quick phone call first, though.” Dorothea hummed an affirmation as he held the receiver up to his ear. She could hear a few muffled rings, and a female voice answering. “Hey, you still around?” Sylvain responded, and Dorothea was shortly aware of him leaning in her direction, his hand quietly sneaking around her wrist and his fingers sliding silently into hers. He swung their arms nonchalantly as he continued on the phone. “Yes, I’m with Dorothea, we’re about ten minutes away. Of course! Thanks again for this. See you soon.”

He hung up and directed his attention back at her, giving her hand a squeeze. “Alright. Let’s go, shall we?”

It being Friday night in downtown, the streets were buzzing with people, cars and sounds. Sylvain pointed out several of the city’s hottest clubs and bars as they walked on. “I’ve been here for six months, not six days,” Dorothea responded. “I play gigs all around town, remember?”

“Right, right,” Sylvain said with a shrug. “I bet some of these folks recognize you, then,” he added. “You’re like a local celebrity.”

Dorothea actually looked embarrassed by this. “Says Garreg Mach’s resident instagram model,” she teased back.

He thought to mention how he’d not once touched his apps that evening, but decided against it. “Allow me to share the burden of stardom with you, then,” he said, bowing dramatically.

She feigned a swoon. “Oh, Mr. Gautier, save me from this accursed life of renown!” Her gaze then landed in front of them, frowning. “Hm, you did not mention that we would be walking up a hill,” she added, looking down at her feet. Sylvain tilted his head in concern.

“Shoot,” he began. “Are you going to be okay in those shoes?”

Dorothea was contemplating. “I think I’ll be alright. I can always take them off,” she said. Then, more decisively: “Don’t mind me, really. I was just giving you trouble.”

Sylvain wasn’t buying it. “No, no, that won’t do,” he insisted, wrapping an arm around her upper back and dropping into a shallow squat. Before Dorothea realized what was going on he was lifting her in a bridal carry. She squealed, throwing her arms around his neck instinctively as he began walking up, his pace only slowing slightly.

“For goodness’ sake, Sylvain,” she protested weakly. “This is so unnecessary,” she added, the upset fading from her voice with each word. "I mean, I suppose I could get used to this…"

They made it maybe a quarter of the way up before Sylvain slowed to a halt and placed her carefully back on the sidewalk. "Yea, I got a bit carried away there, sorry," he panted. Dorothea quickly smoothed out her skirt and placed a sympathetic hand on his shoulder. It took one look for both of them to start laughing.

"Come on, don't make me carry _you_ ," Dorothea chided, waving him along.

As they continued, Dorothea was able to make out the darkened top of a building directly ahead of them. It slowly revealed itself to be a church steeple, one of several towers attached to the central Garreg Mach Cathedral. The magnificent building stood in the middle of a lush green park, and she imagined it must be popular for lounging or strolling during the daylight hours. Now, the only sources of light came from a few streetlamps distributed along the walkway and a series of lights on the scaffolding of the cathedral, illuminating its facade and revealing the detailed motifs molded into the stone.

She paused to admire the scene as they reached the crest of the hill, her breath slowing back to normal. They'd walked far enough away from the heart of downtown, distanced and raised away from the major skyscrapers, so the cathedral stood as the tallest building in the vicinity. Sylvain walked up behind her and slipped an arm around her waist, craning his neck down so his lips were at her ear. "Bet you're thinking about how great the view is from up there, huh?"

Dorothea gave him a quick skeptical glance. "I'm sure it is, but the place looks very closed right now," she said. "Unless I'm about to find out you like to break into holy establishments? Sorry, I don't chase bad boys."

"I sincerely doubt that," Sylvain replied. "But luckily for your conscience, I have a better way to get us in." He waved his free arm, and Dorothea could now make out a figure in the distance standing on the steps outside the massive entranceway, waving back at them. "Come on," he said, taking her hand in his again and moving onward through the park.

As they approached the steps, Dorothea made the figure out to be a woman with a short blonde bob adorned with a beret, her pale cerulean blouse tucked into a long brandy-colored corduroy skirt. She smiled at the two of them with kind grey-blue eyes. “Hello, you two,” she sang in an even gentler voice.

Sylvain moved to introduce them, but Dorothea beat him to it. “Oh, you were at my show last night,” she realized, offering a hand. “I don’t think we were properly introduced. I’m Dorothea,” she said. The other woman giggled as she shook it.

“Pleasure to officially meet you,” the blonde said. “I’m Mercedes.” She eyed Sylvain as Dorothea looked curiously up at the doorway, getting a better view of the intricate detailing and breathing in the smell of aged wood. “This place is really magnificent, isn’t it? A much smaller scale than the main complex, but it’s the largest church in the city itself,” she explained.

“It’s beautiful!” Dorothea replied. “I’ve been living downtown for a while but haven’t actually had the chance to stop by yet,” she added. Sylvain placed a hand on the small of her back, motioning back to his friend.

“Mercedes volunteers here a few nights a week,” he interjected. “I asked her to stay over a bit so she could let us into the main tower,” he said, feeling victorious as he watched Dorothea’s eyes light up.

“Mm, and I should probably do that so you two can get on with your date,” Mercedes said. Then, leaning in close to Dorothea: “Sylvain can get weirdly focused when given the proper incentives.” Both women eyed Sylvain mischievously. After Mercedes had basked in his anxious anticipation long enough she turned towards the door. “Well then, follow me, would you?”

Dorothea gestured towards Mercedes, addressing Sylvain. “I like this girl.” Her date sighed, following their guide as she swung open one of the large doors, then led them inside and up a small set of steps to the right of the entrance. They caught a quick glimpse of the main hall, dark and quiet and bathed in slivers of moonlight seeping in through the stained glass. Mercedes paused at the top, indicating another flight of stairs.

“Follow these, then take a left and head up the flight at the end of that hallway,” she instructed. Dorothea walked ahead, but Mercedes held a hand out as Sylvain moved to pass her. “You know the rules, Sylvain. Keep it PG, alright?” She spoke sternly, but flipped back to a happy smile when she turned to Dorothea. “Have fun! The front door is set up to lock behind you when you leave.”

They both thanked her profusely, Sylvain in particular, and quickly reached the hallway at the top of the first flight. Their footsteps echoed eerily on the stone, passing a series of enticing doors that tested their curiosities. Sure enough, at the end of the hall an intimidating set of spiral steps wound upwards. Dorothea sighed. “This is fun and all, but I wasn’t expecting so much walking tonight,” she said. Sylvain was rolling up his sleeves. “What, are you gonna race me?”

He blanched at the thought. “I have good reason to believe you’d leave me in the dust,” he said. “Let’s just take it slowly, alright?” Dorothea pouted, but complied. Together they began the long ascent.

“This tower looked way shorter from the ground,” Dorothea called through laborious breaths after a minute of climbing. She shot a quick glance back at Sylvain, currently several steps behind her. “If you lag too far over there I’m going to have to assume you’re looking at my butt!” He opened his mouth but was unable to muster up a response, too focused on the simple act of putting one foot in front of the other. “Oh, I see the top!” Dorothea called, now around the corner.

He breathed a sigh of relief as he conquered the final step, feeling the now cooled night air through the windowless arches surrounding them. The small, round room was about ten feet across, with three entrances that led out to a surrounding balcony. High above them, the church bells dangled ominously. Sylvain followed the awestruck coos out into the open air; Dorothea and her crimson dress cut an arresting, eye-catching silhouette against the dark greys of the structure.

The view revealed itself as he approached her, cars and city lights flickering back at them like a scattered fleet of fireflies. Garreg Mach’s metropolitan sprawl stretched out around them, the river and its canals snaking alongside the streets before giving way to the lake and forest. At the base of the foothills one could make out the aged structures of the massive Garreg Mach Monastery, located about a thirty minute drive outside of town. It nestled into jagged mountains that stretched onward past the horizon. The night sky stood in dark contrast to the sea of light, a lonesome few stars hovering around a full moon.

Dorothea took it all in silently, hands resting on the balcony’s edge, curving up to meet her just beneath her chest. Sylvain embraced her from behind, resting his chin on her shoulder. “Told you the walk would be worth it,” he whispered. She leaned into his body, reaching a hand up to comb her fingers through his soft hair. Sylvain purred at the touch, nuzzling further into the crook of her neck and trailing a few light kisses along it.

“Thank you for showing me,” she said, her voice betraying the smile on her face. Her hand slipped away from the back of his head as she turned to face him, curling both fingers around his neck. “Hey,” she breathed, their foreheads pressing together. “I had a lot of fun tonight." With the slightest tilt of her head their lips met. It began slowly, a pleasant warmth running through her as she pressed closer. Sylvain held onto her more tightly, fiercely, and she released her hands from his neck, arms going limp and relaxed as she let his nails scrape lightly down the open back of her dress. Their embrace deepened, building speed and heat until she could feel him shaking.

“‘Thea,” Sylvain whispered, brushing a strand of hair away from her face. “I want you so bad right now.”

“Oh?” she cooed, placing a hand against his chest to feel his heart beat. She traced it down along his ribs and stomach, slowing briefly at his pelvis before making an aggressive move to his crotch. “Is this what you’re talking about?” she asked, cupping the bulge in his pants with a smirk on her face. She cherished the blissful look in his eyes, the way his lips quivered.

“That is—” he gasped as Dorothea rubbed him lightly, bracing against the balcony wall. “Very obviously what I am talking about, yes,” he said. “Fuck.”

She released him, satisfied. “We should get out of here then,” she said, offering a hand. “I don’t want to offend the goddess any more than we already have.”

Sylvain took it, quickly recovering. “With a face like that, I can only imagine all the gods staring in awe,” he mused. Dorothea ignored the words as she tugged him over to the steps.

It was an understandably easier journey back to the ground, save for the two times Sylvain stopped them for a quick flurry of impatient kisses. And the one time that Dorothea did. They stepped out onto the grass, still lightheaded and exchanging inquisitive looks. “You said you live nearby, right?” Sylvain asked as he shut the door quietly behind them, trying the handle to make sure it was locked. Dorothea nodded.

“Yeah, back in the direction we came from,” she said, pausing to stretch. They locked eyes and came to the same conclusion at once. “Fuck more walking. I’ll call us a ride.”

—

He could tell the place was fancy from the lobby, which looked like the foyer for a ritzy entertainment company, or perhaps an overzealous tech start-up. Dorothea rushed them through, cheerily greeting the security guard as they headed for the slick chrome elevators. A fountain in the middle of the room babbled softly, a replica of Botticelli’s “Birth of Venus”. Sylvain eyed it flirtatiously, nudging his date, who was tapping her foot softly and watching the floor number tick down. “You’ve got some decent connections,” he said.

“Why couldn’t they have just stuck to exotic plants?" Dorothea grumbled, turning excitedly as the elevator bell went off. They slid through the doors, met with a massive array of buttons. Sylvain half-expected her to hit the highest number, but her fingers landed solidly in the middle at the sixteenth floor. Mirrors encased them, their reflections staring back at them silently.

The apartment itself was relatively modest, which for this building put it on the level of a higher-end unit at one of the complexes in Sylvain’s neighborhood. It was spacious and minimally furnished, the most notable items being the keyboard piano standing beside the couch and a circular floral rug laid out on the stained hardwood. At the edge of the living room was a massive glass sliding door that opened onto a small balcony.

Dorothea had already slipped behind him into the kitchen, shedding her heels by the door. “More wine? I have a few bottles."

“With pleasure,” Sylvain replied, sliding his hands along the granite countertop as he stepped through the living room. “You know, if I’d known you had a bird’s eye view of downtown I wouldn’t have brought you up that tower,” he said. Dorothea did not respond, and he focused on the sounds of her feet padding around the kitchen, a cork popping and liquid trickling down glass.

“Here you are,” she said, reaching over the counter to hand him his drink. They toasted silently, settling into the slow atmosphere. Dorothea pushed away from the counter, finishing another sip. “Not to be cliche, but I’m going to slip into something more comfortable,” she announced, her gaze on the door leading past the television set. She brushed past Sylvain only to pause a few feet ahead, backtracking slightly and watching him out of the corner of her eye. “Think you could give me a hand unhooking this?”

Sylvain set his glass down, intrigued. He hadn’t gotten a good glimpse of her back, which was completely exposed from the top of her shoulder blades down to the edge of her tailbone. Dorothea lifted her low bun — which had lost some of its integrity from the evening’s activities, and was now threatening to unravel at any moment — to give him a better view. Lace ribbons dangled down to her mid-back, and he could spy the two clasps holding the top collar in place. “Well?”

“O-of course,” he scrambled to say, unsure of exactly how much time had passed. Regaining his composure, he stepped up right behind her, fingers deftly maneuvering the buttons. He felt the dress loosen, and Dorothea let out a light puff of relieved breath. Before she could move away, though, Sylvain placed his hands lightly on her shoulders, palms pressing against her skin as he kissed the spot on her neck where the clasps had been. Dorothea’s hand left her hair, fingers now brushing her shoulder as the loosened strands fell aside. She emitted a gasp as he lowered down, kissing along her spine. He moved his hands firmly to her hips and dropped to his knees, mouth lingering on the small of her back. “Better?” he asked.

“Yeah,” she breathed, clearly taken aback by the gesture. She swiveled back around, allowing him to keep his grip on her hips, emerald eyes now fully on his. “Actually, maybe I’ll change right here,” she decided, fingers moving to her collarbones and teasing the edges of her lace front. Sylvain shifted slightly, about to move his hands when she added “No, stay where you are… enjoy the view.” A shiver ran down his spine and he held on, leaning back onto his heels.

Dorothea began with the collar, then slowly peeled away the lace, letting it fall forward; it rested atop for a moment, her chest rising and falling slowly. With great care, she slid the dress down and over the top of her breasts, revealing them in all their round, perfect glory. Sylvain took in the view with a dreamy smile, and her eyes narrowed with a commanding, paralyzing energy.

From there the fabric gave way, dropping down her waist and bunching at her hips. Her hands fell to his, fingers exploring the ridges of his knuckles and prompting him to help slip the skirt off. Sylvain ran one hand up her exposed thigh and tugged gently, his breath hitching as he brushed his thumb along the contour of her pelvic bone. Tiny white ribbons adorned the sides of her black panties. As Dorothea stepped out of the dress — moving it aside with care — they were now the only thing keeping her from being completely naked before him.

She cocked her head to the side, arms crossed, legs in an authoritative stance. “Well? Care to finish the job?”

Sylvain had always been good at keeping a cool demeanor even when his insides were going wild. “With pleasure,” he said, kissing along her inner thigh while his fingers slid under the elastic. Goosebumps were popping up along Dorothea’s skin where he touched her. As his mouth moved inwards he swapped lips out for tongue, moving her panties down and off slowly. He paused just at the edge of her thigh, eyes glancing upwards, looking for reassurance. Dorothea nodded, her eyes soft, lips curled upward slightly. He closed his eyes the moment he saw her chin begin its trajectory downward, moving in.

He began slowly, teasing the edges of her outer labia, his hand tightening on her rear to steady himself. Dorothea hummed approvingly, her fingers running through his hair, guiding him along. He drew long circles with his tongue, one hand curling around her hip, his thumb brushing her inner thigh as he lapped around her opening. Her soft inhales were beginning to quicken.

Still maintaining focus, Sylvain released the hand on her thigh, motioning up at her with two of his fingers, then wiggling a thumbs-up motion. He tried his best to look up, and smiled when he saw the pleasure building on her face. “Yeah, go ahead,” Dorothea said, followed by a series of quick, understanding nods. He slid his fingers into her slowly, his excitement building at how wet she was already. As he began pulsing his fingertips inside her, his mouth moved up to the little button that was calling his name.

“Aah,” Dorothea moaned, the fingers in his hair tugging harder, her shoulders beginning to slouch. She braced her other hand on his shoulder to prevent herself from curling too far forward, making sure his face and hands stayed right where they were. “That’s… yes, that’s it,” she said, her knees quivering. Sylvain sped up, feeling her closeness, inhaling her scent. “Sylvain,” she said, tapping his shoulder. “Bedroom.”

“Right,” he breathed, withdrawing his fingers and stilling his tongue. He nudged her soft belly with the crown of his head, arms gripping her just below the hips and lifting. She let out a light squeal as he rose to his feet, shifting her weight around like it was nothing. He padded softly to the door, which was already slightly ajar. Dorothea’s room already had more personality than the living room, but he didn’t have time to process all the details at the moment. “Of course you have a canopy bed,” he said.

He went around the side, placing her gently on the mattress, head propped up by the great pile of pillows bunched at the headboard. She adjusted herself while he slipped off his shoes and socks, climbing in over her. His body hovered above hers, red tie dangling into her cleavage. She twirled it around her fingers, giggling. “You’re wearing too much,” she observed. “Let’s fix that.”

Dorothea captured his lips in hers, maneuvering his tie off and tossing it aside, immediately going for the buttons on his shirt. He rose to slip out of the sleeves, straddling her hips, and Dorothea ran her fingers over his chest, tracing the softly defined lines of his abdomen and biting her lip excitedly. Sylvain wasn’t completely ripped, but there _was_ a reason he was so popular. After she’d gotten her fill she pulled him back in for a rough kiss.

Sylvain leaned into her, their torsos flush against each other as he planted furious bites down her neck and clavicle, slowing down as he took one of her breasts into his mouth. She gripped his ass, grinding his hips over hers and grinning victoriously at how hard he was getting. After spending ample time playing with her tits, Sylvain was moving downward again. His arms flexed as he took hold of her thighs, spreading her legs apart and taking her pussy in his mouth again. Dorothea mumbled approvingly. He had three fingers inside her now, pumping quickly and easily through her slick. He could hear her trying to form words, but they turned to moans as he ran the tip of his tongue over her clit.

Both her hands were tangled in his hair again, her breathing shallow. “Keep going,” she finally managed, his free hand cupping her ass. “I’m gonna—” he pushed again with his fingers. “Sylvain,” she breathed. “I’m gonna come.”

“So do it,” he commanded briskly, not wanting to take his mouth off her for long. The pitch of her moans intensified upwards, hips bucking against him, and he felt her nails scratch hard into his scalp. Almost painful, he thought. Or it would be if he weren’t so busy getting off to it. A thick, otherworldly energy fell over the room as Dorothea cried out, holding his face down, one hand now pushing into his shoulder blade. She did not release him until her breathing and body relaxed, a pleased sigh escaping her lips.

“Fuck,” she huffed, and Sylvain crawled back up to lie beside her, face in line with hers. His finger was still caressing her lightly as he drank up her blissful grin. “I’m not finished with you,” she added, pulling him in for a kiss. Her palm cupped his chin, feeling the rough hint of stubble.

“That’s good to hear,” Sylvain replied as their lips parted. “You are very fun, Dorothea.”

She snorted, fingers drumming down the side of his body. “Oh sweetie, you have no idea.” Her mouth curled mischievously as she ran her hand over his crotch, eliciting a gasp. She maintained eye contact with him as she worked the button and zipper of his pants open, deftly reaching down his boxer-briefs to stroke his shaft. Sylvain wiggled his pants off completely as she continued, starting slow and building up speed, gradually shifting the focus to the tip of his dick. Their faces hovered mere inches apart, breath intermingling as they both worked to get the other off.

Something changed in Dorothea's eyes, a switch flipping abruptly. “That’s enough of that,” she said as she pushed against his chest, knocking him to his back and moving on top of him in one fluid motion so she was now straddling his erection. Sylvain shuddered as she grinded atop it, leaning in close and gripping his wrists, pinning them against the pillow just above his ears. “Do you want to do this?” she asked.

The question was met with an enthusiastic nod. “Yes,” he added, slipping a hand out of Dorothea's hold to gesture toward his pants, which were just barely clinging to the edge of the mattress. “In my wallet. Back pocket,” he said. Dorothea smiled, leaning back and hooking her fingers into the fabric of the slacks, rifling through the leather folding wallet and tossing the condom package to him. She backed off him briefly while he got the thing on, hands finding hers to quickly pull her back on top.

He guided her onto his dick slowly, both of them exhaling as Dorothea got settled, rocking her hips from side to side. “Oh, that’s good,” she said, slowly sliding herself forward and bracing her palms against Sylvain’s chest, watching as a bead of sweat ran down his temple. Her hair had come loose ages ago, and was now swaying down and across Sylvain’s bare skin as she grinded in a circular motion. He followed the undulations of her body, reaching a hand up to brush her cheek and run his fingers through her brown curls.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he breathed, knocking his head back with a moan as Dorothea shifted into a bobbing motion, quickening her pace. He gripped her hips tightly, thrusting himself up into her. She leaned down further to kiss him, pausing only to let out a moan as they pushed deeper. “Dorothea…” he sighed, beginning to feel close but not wanting to stop. A spark glinted in her eyes again, as if reading his mind, slowing her pace just a fraction. She took his hand and guided it between her legs, grinding her clit against his finger.

“Let’s come together,” she said, her voice hitching as he flexed his fingertips. Sylvain nodded, his mind beginning to empty, a floating sensation overtaking him. As he focused his efforts on fucking her he became vaguely aware of Dorothea whispering, unable to fully make out the words. Was she…? He couldn’t even complete the thought.

He experienced the next few moments in slow-motion, as though his mind had left his body. Something was changing about Dorothea, something subtle. Her ears had taken on a curious shape, lengthening and tapering into a point, and as she flashed her teeth he could swear her canines had sharpened into fangs. Was there something in the wine? He wondered. She pumped hard again, snapping him out of his thoughts, focusing back on the euphoria overtaking him. “Mmm, Dorothea,” he mumbled, his hands relaxing, a tingling sensation building at the tip of his fingers.

There were definitely horns, about three inches long and sharp, protruding from the top of her forehead, just along her hairline. Somehow, he was okay with that.

“Are you ready?” Dorothea asked, her voice breathy but controlled, and she dragged her nails along his chest. She was still gorgeous, but something about her had taken on a carnal, animalistic quality. Sylvain was brought back to his body, holding her hips again and moving hard against her, nodding.

“Just nearly,” he panted, eyes meeting hers.

She growled, her movements wild now. “Say my name again,” she said.

“Dorothea,” Sylvain muttered obediently.

“Louder,” she commanded, spine straightening, her hands planted just at the base of his stomach, drawing quick circles with her fingers. Sylvain wasn’t sure if he could, but something warm swelled in his chest.

“Dorothea,” he began, already knowing it wasn’t enough. “Fuck. Dorothea!”

She smiled, and this time he knew they were fangs. Again, he was okay with that. “Very good, Sylvain,” she said. “Mmmm, I’m going to come,” she added, eyes closing as she knocked her head back.

“Yeah, me too,” he said, bracing himself. Suddenly he was seeing stars, closing his eyes instinctively while the sound of Dorothea’s ecstatic cries echoed in his head. The bed felt like it was shaking. At the peak of his climax he opened his eyes again to see Dorothea, framed by what looked like dark wings. They stretched out wide behind her, at least three feet on each side, then folded back inward as her voice faded. Sylvain’s whole body relaxed, too tired now to focus on anything.

He slowly became aware of Dorothea lying beside him, propped up on her elbow, her other hand running along his abdomen. When he opened his eyes to look at her there were no horns, no wings, just the woman he’d gone to dinner with earlier that evening. “Hey,” he whispered with a smile, which she returned. “Yup. Still gorgeous,” he said, lifting himself up to give her a tender kiss. A satisfying ache had settled over his body.

“Sssh,” she replied, placing a finger on his lips. “You’re exhausted. Let’s go to bed,” she added, playing with his bangs.

He mumbled an affirmation, nuzzling her shoulder as he dropped his head back onto the pillow. The lights in the room went out, though neither of them were in range of a switch. He went to sleep.


	3. Morning Bloom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorothea and Sylvain spend the morning together. Dorothea reflects on her date, amongst other things. Sylvain aspires to be a paranormal detective.

At eight o’ clock on Saturday morning, while most people were sleeping off their Friday night decisions, Dorothea Arnault was dancing on the roof. She had been awake since dawn, sneaking quietly out of her bedroom to watch the sun rise over Garreg Mach from her balcony, sipping on one of the leftover glasses of wine. As the new morning light intensified she felt the building tingle of inebriation, walked back inside and picked up the second glass. Her legs dangled as she seated herself on the countertop. By seven she was appropriately buzzed, just about finished lounging and still full of energy. After all, she didn’t experience hangovers anymore. Especially not after last night.

She pranced down the empty halls of her floor, humming softly as the elevator brought her up to the terrace. Crisp air filled her lungs as she inhaled deeply and spun herself around barefoot on the turf, the alcohol in her system intensifying the dizzying, lightweight sensation. Ambient city noise played in the background, whether the occasional car zipping by or flock of birds flitting across the rooftops. But Dorothea's perch remained mostly undisturbed. She resisted the urge to sing, quieting even her own breath so as not to break the tranquil spell, and rolled softly into a prone position.

Drinking hadn’t been the same since her changing. In addition to a higher general tolerance, she no longer felt the stronger physical effects of liquor; her heightened senses remained undulled. But her clarity of mind still blurred at the edges, creating a strange out-of-body feeling and intensifying her playful nature. Which was good, because she now had access to massive quantities of fresh magical energy. And she was dying to tell someone about it.

Dorothea rolled gracefully onto her stomach, swiveling her wrist in the air and drawing several tight circles with her index finger, focusing on the space directly above it. Piece by piece, a small, innocuous black smartphone materialized in front of her, hovering for several seconds before dropping smoothly into her hand. It was devoid of any personality or identifying features. The lock screen was kept to the default, as were most of the settings past it. Her actual day-to-day mobile was lying on her bedside table next to her still-sleeping house guest.

But this morning she had some business to take care of.

She entered the passcode and navigated three screens over, clicking into the empty top right corner seven times before the device vibrated approvingly, booting up her encrypted chat application. Dorothea grumbled at the complicated steps, but she knew it was for her security. At least she hadn’t had to set it up herself.

There was only one conversation active and, to her surprise, the two other participants were both online. She grinned, pulled up the dialogue box and started tapping away.

 **> harpyja:** goooood morning lovelies. last night was a great success ;)

There was no response for several minutes, and she lay her head back down on her hands, tapping the tops of her feet anxiously. The artificial smell of the turf overwhelmed her senses, mixed with more subtle hints of damp concrete. She felt the strong urge to fly, or at least go for a run. Her phone buzzed.

 **> chrysaetos:** Someone is up early. Did your guest leave so soon?

 **> harpyja:** he should sleep until noon, I suspect

 **> klossi:** aaaaaw yea, way to go! how was it??? are the rumors true?

 **> chrysaetos:** Please don’t answer that. You know I hate these details

 **> klossi:** (tell me later)

 **> harpyja:** a lady doesn’t kiss and tell!

 **> chrysaetos:** You say this every time, yet still feel a need to bring it up

 **> klossi:** but we know the target this time so I’m EXTRA curious

Dorothea ran her eyes over the last message several times. It was true; this was the first time she’d had so many mutual connections with one of her targets. And that wasn’t the only thing that made this job different from the others. For one, she was having way more fun than she usually did. Her mind began to wander, naturally gravitating to the image of Sylvain fast asleep and wrapped up in her sheets. So gentle, unaware, his fire-red hair falling softly in front of his face and brushing against his long eyelashes. He’d still been asleep when she snuck out, but she remembered how his arms had curled inward instinctively on the spot she’d left behind. She wouldn’t mind being wrapped up in those arms again.

 **> harpyja:** just giving you a status update! gonna head back now before my absence is noticed

She rose from her spot, eyes scanning the cityscape one last time before making her way back downstairs. The apartment was still quiet when she cracked the door open, and her ears picked up the steady sound of breathing coming from the bedroom. The microwave clock read 9:13. Still enough time for a quick power nap, she mused. Right after a quick trip to the bathroom.

Ensuring the door was closed and locked behind her, Dorothea observed herself in the mirror, fingers probing her hair. It was tangled from rolling around on the roof, and she frowned as she noticed a particularly large knot. A comb was sitting atop the shelf behind her. Watching its reflection, she made a beckoning motion with her fingertips and it flew several feet through the air and into her hands. She went to work on her hair, humming softly.

Once satisfied, she floated the comb back into place and ruffled her locks, shaking her head and watching them fall loosely against her cheeks. Her green eyes peered back at her as she scrutinized her unmade face, taking note of the minor blemishes. All normal, she decided, then leaned in close and sighed, contemplating. It couldn’t hurt to check, she thought. Eyes closed, she focused on removing the glamor spell she'd so carefully crafted. There was a minor pressure at the top of her forehead, an itch along the top of her ears, and a pricking sensation as she ran her tongue along her top row of teeth. She stared blankly at the result in the mirror.

There were no new changes. Her horns were still as long, dark and sharp as the last fifty times she’d seen them, and her ears still tapered into points. Fangs flashed back at her when she smiled. But that face in the mirror was undeniably Dorothea, even if some of the details had required getting used to. She was already well past the adjustment period, but what was stopping her from waking up tomato red one morning? It’s not like she had a handbook for this kind of thing. Or anyone she could ask.

Well, there was one person, but she’d left that bastard behind in Enbarr for a reason.

Dorothea dismissed the thought, straightening her posture. She shrugged the robe off her shoulders, taking a moment to massage her neck and upper back. Her arms dropped and the muscles contracted, shoulder blades shifting as wings spread out soundlessly behind her. They flapped back and forth several times before curling inward again. She ran her hands along the ridge of one, admiring the leathery feel of it. She stopped at the first joint, pressing her thumb lightly into the point, the same burgundy color as her horns. And just as sharp.

After assessing them properly, she took a few short hops on the balls of her feet and pushed off the tile, wings working as she hovered a foot above the ground. She peered up at the closeness of the ceiling, wishing she had more room to properly fly. The worst part about having magical powers was, in her experience, the lack of chances she had to use them.

Of course, one of those chances was soundly asleep in her bed, she thought with a smile. And the clock was ticking if she wanted to get some cuddling in. With a snap of her fingers she set up her glamor again, wings and horns dissipating and leaving only the image of normal, human Dorothea. She slipped back out through the door and snuck quietly into the bedroom.

Sylvain was still curled up where she’d left him in the middle of the bed, sheets askew from her departure and leaving his top half exposed. As she tiptoed over to the edge of the mattress she took a moment to admire his sleeping form, eyes wandering across his slowly rising chest and down to his shallow belly button. She resisted the urge to pounce, instead sliding quietly onto the bed, carefully lifting Sylvain’s arm so she could snuggle up against his torso.

“Mmm,” he mumbled by her ear, arms circling further around her waist. “Where’d you go?” he asked sleepily, planting a soft kiss on the back of her neck.

“Just the bathroom,” she lied smoothly. There was a light feeling that sparked where his skin brushed against her stomach and radiated throughout her whole body, simultaneously exciting and relaxing her. A desire welled up in her chest that she woefully suppressed, realizing Sylvain had already fallen back asleep — if he’d ever actually been awake to begin with. Her head still buzzed with energy, and she tried to focus on the steady sound of his breathing again, the warmth of it against her neck. It was almost too comfortable, and Dorothea felt the need to remind herself that this was a job. For whatever reason, that latter thought made it more difficult to rest, and so she promptly ignored it.

Enjoy it, she commanded to herself, echoing the sentiment until it finally lulled her to slumber again.

—

Sylvain was the first to wake, as was made evident by the kisses planted on her shoulders and the hand gliding along her hip as she stirred. “Wake up, sleepyhead,” he whispered playfully when she wriggled in response. Dorothea shook her head, surprised by her desire to stay exactly where she was, and pushed her hips back against him in half-hearted protest. Sylvain hummed, the sound vibrating against her shoulder, and his fingers crept upward. “I bet you’re ticklish,” he said, fingertips moving so lightly that she shuddered.

“Of course not,” she mumbled into her arm, suppressing a giggle against the skin. Before he could get any further she turned her body to face him, pressing her face into his chest to avoid his gaze. Her arm reached around his waist and he quieted, letting her pull him closer and run her nails lightly along his back. He rested his chin on the crown of her lowered head. "Five more minutes," she said, expecting him to protest.

"If you insist," Sylvain replied, and remained still. "You won't find me complaining about a beautiful woman in my arms," he added.

Dorothea scoffed, pulling away slightly. “A bit early for flattery, don’t you think?” She peered up at him as best she could, able to just barely see his lips curled into a smile.

“Firstly, it’s a quarter hour shy of noon,” he said, and she felt his hand grip her waist tighter. “Secondly, it’s never a bad time for flattery.” He leaned his forehead down to hers, closing the distance between them again, and she felt her heartbeat speeding up. “And thirdly, _somebody_ doesn’t sound very asleep right now,” he teased, at the same time giving her a quick squeeze along her upper side body and prompting a surprised squeal. It quickly turned to laughter as Sylvain continued to flutter his fingers along her skin.

“Sylvain!” she exclaimed through the mirth, instinctively wedging her palm between their bodies and pushing hard against his chest. He didn’t struggle as the force landed him on his back and Dorothea utilized the momentum to swing herself on top of him, continuing to hold him down as she rose up to sit across his hips. Their eyes met for the first time that morning.

Dorothea felt her slowing breath hiccup for a moment at the sight of his light brown eyes watching her, how effortlessly and unwittingly they reflected the pleased smile on his face. In an instant she understood what all the rumors had warned about, and realized the real challenge posed toward her. She did not know if she could break this man’s heart before he broke hers.

The thought struck her so quickly that she was barely able to control her reaction, nor her cheeks flushing. But if something was wrong, Sylvain showed no signs of knowing it; Dorothea quickly recovered her smile and lowered herself so her face hovered just above his, lips parted. “Good morning,” she whispered before delivering a long, slow kiss. Sylvain accepted it happily, clutching her to him with one hand and positioning the other to leisurely cradle the base of his neck.

She rolled off him before things got too heated, resting her head in the crook of his arm and tangling her legs up with his. Everything about Sylvain was easy and warm. But the silence settling over the room was threateningly cool, and Dorothea wasn’t having it. “If it’s not too early for flattery,” she began, peeling away from his chest and propping herself up so she could get a better look at him. “You are an absolutely delightful house guest.”

Sylvain chuckled, but his mind seemed to have wandered elsewhere. His gaze was fixed on the ceiling. “Does that mean you’ll be inviting me again sometime?” he asked, in a nonchalant tone that didn’t match his pensive expression. Dorothea nuzzled his chest, trying to figure out why she cared so much about keeping his attention.

“Of course,” she said. “I can already tell you’re an absolute goldmine for songwriting material.”

He laughed even harder at that, angling his body toward her. “Aah, the diva’s true colors have shown themselves!” Dorothea felt the tips of his fingers brush her shoulder blades. “Hey,” Sylvain said, voice softening when she avoided locking eyes again. “Give me another kiss,” he requested. Then, as his head lolled to the side: “Please?”

Dorothea let out a huff, amused by his forwardness. Meeting his gaze was easier the second time, and she savored the longing look he was giving her, the cute way his lower lip stuck out in a pout. She lightly bit her own. “Well, since you asked so nicely,” she sang, leaning in. Sylvain lifted his thumb to meet her chin as she got closer, guiding her lips the rest of the way to his. She moaned softly as his fingers snuck up to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, and moments later they were interrupted by the sound of his stomach rumbling. “Hm, maybe we should consider getting brunch,” she said, eyes spying the clock across the room. It was already past noon.

Sylvain thumped onto his back, arms spread wide as Dorothea sat up, giving her own a stretch. “Yeah, but I don’t want to put on clothes,” he sighed. She ran her hands through her hair, which had already managed to get tangled again, and watched the slightly ajar door.

“And I could use a shower,” she said, turning her gaze back to him as she began edging off the other side of the bed. “There’s not a ton in the kitchen, but you can help yourself,” she offered, padding softly to the door. “I won’t be long.”

“You sure you don’t want company?” Sylvain called from the bed.

She paused, considering it. “You are unrelenting, Mr. Gautier,” she responded, already in the bathroom. “I’m alright, but maybe next time.” Sylvain’s retort was drowned out by the hum of running water as she switched the shower on and maneuvered out of her pajamas. Steam began to fog up the room.

The task of bathing occupied her mind and provided some distraction from the anxious thoughts still bouncing around in her head, but Dorothea still found herself dispersing some of her nervous magical energy by floating her many bottles of product around the shower ledge. It had taken all of her willpower not to let Sylvain join her, but she wanted to ease him into this slowly. Well, as slowly as she could go now that she’d already slept with him. But she’d sorely needed a taste, and so far she was pleased with what she’d gotten. Both magically and physically.

She toweled off and gave her hair a half-hearted blow-dry, enough so her locks weren’t sopping wet, and slipped on the crimson bathrobe hanging from the door hook. As she stepped out into the living room the smell of her rose conditioner mingled with the strong scents of garlic and coffee, and she could hear the sizzling of oil and clinking of metal on the stove.

“You look radiant,” Sylvain observed from the kitchen, spatula in hand. He was still wearing nothing but his boxers, and Dorothea suddenly wished she owned a lacey apron for him to borrow. "You know you have half a dozen eggs that expire tomorrow?" He looked down at the scramble cooking in the pan. "Well, not anymore."

Dorothea strolled around the counter, spotting the coffee brewing in the pot. She picked up the near-full bag of grounds sitting on the granite, stuck with a logo she recognized from Enbarr. "Ooh, Hubie gave this to me when I first moved here," she said. "I think he's the only one who's had any of it, actually."

"Hubie? As in Hubert von Vestra?" Sylvain asked cautiously. "I think he roofied me once for looking at Edelgard in a vaguely flirtatious way," he said. "The pet name almost makes me forget how terrifying he is, though."

She walked her fingers along his arm, watching him cook. "That was unfair of him to do," she said sympathetically. "After all, I'm pretty sure you're incapable of _not_ looking at a woman flirtatiously."

Sylvain sighed, focused on the eggs. "Your phone rang while you were in the shower, by the way," he mentioned. "As it happens, you have a few missed calls from Edelgard," he added, lifting the pan up and sliding its contents onto a nearby plate. Dorothea stepped over to the dining room table where her phone was sitting, checking the notifications. Edelgard had called at ten, eleven and then twelve thirty.

“Thanks for letting me know,” she said as Sylvain walked over to set down food and two precariously balanced mugs of coffee. “Do you mind if I call her real quick? It might be important.” Sylvain smiled warmly and nodded, beginning to eat. She walked over to the couch and dialed. Edelgard picked up on the second ring.

“Hey, Dorothea,” the other woman’s cool voice answered, and Dorothea could hear the faint sound of balls bouncing against concrete in the background.

“Edie! I’m just about to sit down to brunch, is everything alright?” Dorothea asked.

“Er, yes, I’m just at the tennis court,” Edelgard responded. There was a moment of silence before she added: “You asked me to call you today, in case you needed an excuse to bail on your date. Remember?”

Dorothea flushed; she’d completely forgotten. But she was grateful that Edelgard had pulled through, even if she didn’t really need an escape route. “Right! Of course.” She considered whether to take Edelgard up on the offer anyway. Now that she’d called, it would probably be easier and result in Sylvain asking fewer questions. And she wanted to see her friend regardless. “Are you still free?”

“After three, yes,” Edelgard said. “Feel free to stop by. It’s been a while since I saw you last,” she added.

“I’ll be there,” Dorothea said decisively, and they exchanged goodbyes as she sauntered back over to the table. Sylvain was already halfway through his portion, but he stopped to look up at her dreamily. “Sorry, I totally forgot I made plans to hang out with Edelgard later today,” she apologized as she slid into the chair across from him. “I’m going to have to head out in a bit.” Her eyes scanned the scene in front of her, lingering the longest on the cook himself. “This looks amazing. Thank you."

Sylvain leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “It’s the least I could do for letting me stay over,” he said. Then his expression turned curious. “What do you and Edelgard do when you hang out? I can’t really imagine it.”

Dorothea paused, swallowing a mouthful of scramble. “Oh, you know, typical lady stuff. Drinking wine and talking about books and movies. I serenade her lovingly and we cuddle on the couch,” she said with a wink. “But really, we just hang out and talk at her place most of the time. Sometimes Hubert is there and we all play board games,” she added, noticing how Sylvain’s face lit up at the last statement. “You should join us next time! I can keep a close eye on Hubie to make sure he doesn’t spike your drinks with anything.”

He laughed, taking a sip of his coffee. “I actually really love game nights,” he said. “Like, sometimes I get way too into them. Most of the time, if you ask Felix. He says I become like a completely different person.” He paused as if pondering something, then held his fingers up in air quotes. “‘Uncharacteristically motivated’ were the exact words he used.”

Dorothea rolled her eyes. “Oh no, you sound just like Hubert and Edelgard. But you’d fit right in,” she said, taking another bite. Then: “You seemed pretty motivated last night, though.”

Sylvain reached across the table, squeezing her hand in his. “Of course. I wanted you to have a good time.” His eyes met hers wistfully. Dorothea felt herself blush, even though the gesture felt melodramatic, and was likely intentionally so. He grinned, seemingly pleased with her reaction. “You must not think I’m being serious. I’ll be sure to make that clear next time I see you,” he added.

“Right,” Dorothea replied, squeezing back. “Well, you didn’t sneak off in the morning, so you’ve already exceeded my expectations.” She was playing with him, but there was a hint of uncertainty tugging at the back of her mind. Contrary to her initial impression of him, Sylvain only got more and more difficult to read.

He removed his hand, clutching his chest woefully. “You wound me, milady,” he sighed dramatically, and flashed that same mischievous smile again. “But if you’re so keen on predicting my moves, I boldly accept your challenge to outsmart you,” he added. His mouth twisted in embarrassment. “Sorry, I had chess on the brain. See what I mean?”

Dorothea leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms. He was smarter than he looked, and something about that was wildly sexy to her, but she wasn’t about to tell him that. She already felt like she’d said too much with her previous comment. “Save it for game night,” she said, tapping her bare foot against his ankle.

They finished the rest of breakfast in relative silence, and Dorothea rose from the table momentously. “I should get ready to head out, then,” she announced, heading in the direction of her bedroom. Sylvain followed softly behind her, and she picked up the pile of his clothes that she’d neatly folded from the embroidered loveseat at the end of her bed. She handed them to him, leaning against one of the bedposts. “There you are,” she said, watching him.

Sylvain shrugged and plopped the clothes back on the loveseat, taking hold of the bedpost and closing the distance between them. In the same motion he wrapped his other arm around her waist and took her lips in his, moving with such force that she emitted a light gasp and sat back on the edge of the bed. The kiss was short but passionate, and he watched her playfully for a moment, swaying back and forth nonchalantly. “Alright, I’ll get dressed,” he said, but his eyes were challenging her. Dorothea froze, still in light shock, and resisted the urge to pull him down to the bed with her again.

He got his shirt and pants on quickly, slinging the tie across his shoulder and picking up his socks and shoes. Dorothea didn’t miss a beat, popping up from the bed. “I’ll walk you out,” she said quickly, still a bit flustered. She took hold of his hand and led him to the foyer, slipping on her heels from the previous night that were waiting by the door. As she stood up she regained some of her composure, taking a deep breath and pausing to look up at him. “Got everything?”

Sylvain held his hand to his head, searching the room like a pirate scanning the horizon. “Yes ma’am,” he affirmed with a nod. “That was very cute how you got all tongue-tied, by the way,” he added. Dorothea screamed internally, but she was fairly confident her outward expression remained cool.

“Good,” she replied, swinging the door open and motioning Sylvain outside. He kept his hand on the small of her back as they walked to the elevator. They lingered for a few moments in the lobby, watching the fountain silently while Dorothea gave the security guard a quick friendly wave. “Thank you again for last night. And this morning,” she said, twirling her hair around her finger.

“Of course,” Sylvain said, keeping his eyes on her. “Let’s do this again,” he added. She nodded enthusiastically. Maybe too enthusiastically. She slowed down, placing a hand on his shoulder.

“Let’s,” she whispered, and lifted her head to kiss him. She could feel the edges of his mouth curling upwards. He gave her a quick hug before breaking away, and before she knew it he was halfway across the lobby.

“See you around!” he called, waving at her. Dorothea swung her hand back and forth weakly in return, eyes on her sleeve. She looked down and realized she was still in her robe, blushing as she hit the elevator button again.

As she ascended back to her floor, she made a mental note to avoid talking to Edelgard about her date as much as humanly possible.

—

“I think my girlfriend isn’t fully human.”

Felix had had an exceptionally long day even before sitting down to coffee with Sylvain. He’d woken up at six, gone on a ten-mile run, and then joined Leonie for strength training. After eating his weight in breakfast cuisine, he’d resisted a deep food coma and met up with Annette and Mercedes to participate in his bi-monthly volunteer work at the church. It was a rewarding and satisfying routine, but by the afternoon he was already mentally and physically exhausted. He did not have the energy to deal with Sylvain, who turned out to be the real charity case for the day.

He sighed, resting his chin on his hands. “You’ve been on one date. I’d say ‘girlfriend’ is a strong word,” he said.

Sylvain groaned. “You’re focusing on the wrong details here, Felix.”

“Look, I don’t understand what you mean by ‘not fully human’, alright? Knowing you it’s probably some weird sex thing. I thought we all agreed to keep that shit in the bedroom,” Felix replied.

“It’s not a sex thing!” Sylvain exclaimed. “Well, I mean, I made the observation during sex, but—”

Felix was seething. “Ingrid, are you hearing this?” He motioned dramatically to the girl sitting on his right, who was absent-mindedly scrolling through her phone. She looked up at the two men, mild concern shining through her bored eyes.

“Calm down, Felix,” she said, eyes back on her screen. “Sylvain, could you elaborate for us? Ideally with the most family-friendly language possible.”

“Thank you, Ingrid,” Sylvain replied politely, then paused to think. His memory from the end of the night was fuzzy, likely due to the wine, but he hadn’t had enough to completely wipe his memory. Especially of something so odd. Still, trying to conjure up the image of Dorothea was difficult. There was her dark hair in disarray, her nails clawing at his chest, her perfectly-shaped breasts — he stopped himself, trying his best not to get distracted. He spoke slowly. “We got… intimate, and toward the end I saw her face change,” he began. “She had these little horns, about this big.” He measured out the length with his hands, watching his uncertain fingers curiously like he was hearing the story from someone else.

“Then her ears were kinda pointed, like Legend of Zelda,” he continued, index fingers motioning to the tips of his own ears. “Not quite as long, though. And she had fangs. And these big bat wings,” he added. “That’s it. I only saw it for a short moment, but I _definitely_ saw it.”

Felix looked at him in disbelief. Ingrid appeared oddly intrigued. Sylvain continued. “Plus there was something about the energy in the room that was peculiar. Like the vibe was weird,” he said. “Honestly, it was wonderful,” he recalled dreamily.

Ingrid smiled. “I’m glad you had a good date,” she said, taking a sip of her coffee.

Then Felix narrowed his eyes at both of them, taking a stab at Sylvain’s bizarre claims. “This is officially too weird. Fangs? I swear, if you say the word ‘vampire’...” He also took a moment to drink the smoothie in front of him.

Sylvain shook his head. “No, she can’t be a vampire. I gave her garlic when I cooked her breakfast this morning,” he said.

“You cooked her breakfast? How sweet!” Ingrid said cheerily.

“Sure, it’s sweet, whatever,” Felix interrupted. “But Ingrid, you’re ignoring the fact that Sylvain is being completely delusional!” He watched Ingrid put her phone down, crossing her arms contemplatively. “Don’t tell me you’re actually taking him seriously,” he pleaded.

“What reason does he have to lie?” she asked, looking Felix in the eye assertively.

“I’m right here, you know,” Sylvain reminded them.

Felix waved at him dismissively. “Ingrid, you’ve been reading too much of that Loog Chronicles series,” he said. Then, as if a thought had just popped into his head, he pulled his phone out of his pocket angrily. “Look, I’m texting Dorothea about this. She should be able to clear up this whole ridiculous affair.”

Sylvain blanched. “No! She’s going to think I’m crazy, or at least pretend to think I’m crazy. She would obviously deny it,” he said, trying to wrestle the phone from Felix’s hands and getting a decisive shove in return.

“Right. I don’t have her number,” Felix grumbled. “Ingrid, help me out here.”

Ingrid rolled her eyes and shook her head. “Let’s not sabotage Sylvain’s relationship,” she chided. Then, turning to the other man: “Sylvain. Look me in the eyes,” she commanded. Sylvain gulped, but obliged. “You _swear_ that what you saw was the truth? You're not pranking us?”

There was a long silence as they stared each other down. “I know what I saw,” Sylvain finally said. “It’s possible there was something in the wine, but I think I would have seen something stranger if that were the case,” he added, voice tinged with uncertainty. Ingrid’s blue eyes were unblinking, a scrutinizing gaze he’d felt before, many times. She always had a way of sorting out truth from bullshit.

After what felt like an eternity she broke her stare, shifting to address both of them. “I believe you. Regardless of whether it was hallucinogens or the real deal, you saw what you saw. It’s worth investigating,” she said. Then, momentously, she reached into the bag draped across the back of her chair and pulled out her laptop. “But first, can we please discuss what we came here to discuss?” she asked, opening the computer. “The Fraldarius Fundraiser Fling is next Saturday and we’re several days behind on the planning process, so there’s much to do.”

Sylvain chuckled dubiously. “Oh, of course, you want to handle party logistics. I had an otherworldly experience last night and you’re raring to move on to the next agenda item,” he said. Ingrid fixed him with a glare that chilled his bones.

“Investigate it. On. Your. Own,” she said through gritted teeth. “Obviously if you have any important developments, let me know. I don’t want you to do anything life-threateningly stupid,” she added. “Now, we’ve been advertising this event pretty heavily on social media, and the RSVP guest list is getting pretty big. I’ll be handling the latter. Sylvain, you’re going to be promoting on all your accounts, correct?”

He sighed, affirming his responsibilities. Ingrid continued listing tasks and their varying levels of progress, but Sylvain’s mind was already somewhere else. Ingrid certainly had rushed through their conversation to get it out of the way, but she also hadn’t completely brushed him off earlier. She had genuinely considered that what he saw with Dorothea was real. Which was incredibly odd. But maybe Felix was right, and Ingrid wanted the supernatural to be real. Either way, he took it as a green light to gather more information. How to do that exactly, he wasn’t yet sure.

“Felix, I have a few small errands I need you to run this week too,” Ingrid added.

“Hey, I provided the venue. What more could you possibly need from me?” Felix asked, fiddling with the stir stick in his now empty mug. “You know I don’t care about this event at all. My dad is the one who insists on it.”

“You say that every year, yet you get drunk in the hot tub along with everybody else,” she said. “And since you brought him up, it’s technically your father who provides the venue. You don’t live on the estate anymore, remember?”

Felix looked defeated, and Sylvain took the opportunity to chime in. “Come on Fe, it’s for charity. We’re raising money for a good cause, remember?” If Ingrid was going to support his far-fetched theories, the least he could do was give her some extra help with Garreg Mach’s largest spring fundraiser. Felix rolled his eyes at both of them.

“Fine. Tell me what I need to do,” he relented. Both his friends cheered, and Ingrid continued on with her delegating.

Sylvain felt a buzz in his pocket, and his eyes lit up when he saw it was a message from Dorothea.

 **> Dorothea:** Hey you ;) I am feeling absolutely energized from your brunch. Hope your day’s going well

 **> Sylvain:** Always happy to cook for you! How’s hanging out with Lady Hresvelg herself?

 **> Dorothea:** Edie is lovely, thank you

 **> Dorothea:** And she wants to apologize on behalf of Hubert for any unsavory behavior

 **> Sylvain:** You told her about that???

 **> Dorothea:** Shoot, should I not have?

 **> Sylvain:** Nah it’s fine. Apology accepted I guess

 **> Dorothea:** Also, I was trying to organize a potential game night for next weekend and Edelgard mentioned there’s some big house party at Felix’s dad’s house or something?

 **> Sylvain:** The Fraldarius Fundraiser Fling!! I’m helping Ingrid organize it!

 **> Sylvain:** I’m surprised you haven’t heard anything about it. Ingrid will be sad that her advertising campaign wasn’t thorough enough

 **> Dorothea:** Eh, I usually don’t hear about these things until someone like Edelgard tells me. Too busy planning my own shows

 **> Dorothea:** But I guess now you can be my insider party info guy :)

 **> Sylvain:** It would be my honor :)

The sound of snapping fingers pulled him away from his phone. Ingrid and Felix were both looking at him, waiting for a response to a question he’d clearly missed. “Look at that dumb smile,” Felix began. “He’s probably messaging his hot, maybe-magical not-girlfriend,” he said coolly. Sylvain looked at him in disbelief, glad Felix had at least calmed down enough from earlier to deliver quips like that.

“Excuse me, Felix,” Sylvain said. “Did you just acknowledge the attractiveness of a woman?”

Ingrid laughed, while Felix rolled his eyes. “Uh, I’m not blind. Or an asshole,” he said. Then, motioning to Ingrid: “For example, Ingrid is objectively pretty.”

“Hey, reign it in, Fraldarius,” Ingrid jabbed, but Sylvain could swear he saw a hint of red flush her cheeks.

Felix put his hands up defensively. “Anyway, is it or is it not Dorothea?” he asked, motioning to Sylvain’s phone. Sylvain nodded guiltily. “Goddess, you better not fuck this one up,” he said. Ingrid nodded approvingly.

“Yeah, Sylvain, this girl’s a good one. Even if she might be a vampire,” Ingrid added with a sarcastic smile.

Sylvain rose from his seat, crossing his arms. “Would you quit with the teasing! Otherwise I’m going to go outside so I can keep talking to this girl in peace,” he said. Ingrid tugged him back down angrily, pointing back to her laptop. He sighed. “Right, let’s get back to planning,” he relented, shooting Dorothea a quick message.

 **> Sylvain:** I’m actually planning with Ingrid and Felix rn. Gonna have to talk later

 **> Dorothea:** Of course! Tell them both I said hello

He put his phone aside and motioned for Ingrid to continue. Felix was actually engaged in the conversation now; or, as he would have put it, ‘uncharacteristically motivated’. Sylvain smiled, glad to know that his friends had his back.

Especially when he didn’t trust himself to have his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the big gap between chapters! I'd love to blame global pandemic, but really I am a fool who got addicted to Animal Crossing. Big thanks to my beta readers and those of you who've been following along so far. I'll try to get the next installment up much sooner.


	4. Surprise Visitors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorothea pays Sylvain a work visit. Preparations for the Fraldarius Fling begin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Light explicit sexual content warning for this chapter!

Corporate spaces made Sylvain nauseous, and the Gautier South-Central Branch Headquarters building was no exception. From his windowed office his eyes flitted lazily across a set of large computer monitors, the bright May sunlight streaming in behind him and creating a halo of light around his body visible to any employees who happened to pass by. His father would have loved that commanding imagery, but for Sylvain it just further intensified his desire to go outside and enjoy Garreg Mach’s beautiful spring weather. Through the inner windows of the room he had a clear view of the cubicles packed tightly onto the floor, now half-full with the start of the lunch hour. At least he had the opportunity for privacy and the illusion of freedom, comparatively.

It did little to ease his boredom, even as the figures on screen guaranteed a full afternoon’s worth of tasks. Scattered snack bags and an iced latte substituted a proper meal while he continued to work through the break. Officially he only took on part-time hours, but his father had been slowly increasing Sylvain’s list of responsibilities. Surely the man thought he was being stealthy about it, but it was wont of him to underestimate his youngest son's perceptiveness. Sylvain was perfectly aware that his father would ask him to take over this branch any day now. He would refuse, like he always did, but he knew that his protests had little effect on the trajectory of a multi-billion dollar company.

And like any massive corporation, that trajectory was convoluted and shrouded in mystery, even to Sylvain himself. He had an inkling of where his family’s money came from: real estate, investment banking, manufacturing, the list went on. He considered it a talent that he was able to remove all the minute details from his brain so easily. Of course, no one ever had to ask for elaboration when he told them who he worked for. In fact, most of the time he didn’t even have to mention where he worked at all; the red hair and jawline that resembled his father’s more and more each day did all the talking for him.

His sleepy work-trance was broken by the shrill sound of his desk phone ringing, and he shook himself awake as he picked up the receiver. “Sylvain here,” he muttered, eyes blinking quickly as he pulled them away from the screen, focusing on a potted money plant in the corner of the room.

The gentle voice of their receptionist greeted him on the other end. “So sorry to bother you sir, but you have a visitor in the lobby,” she said. Sylvain cycled through all the potential clients it could be, knowing he didn’t have any scheduled meetings this afternoon. “A young woman by the name of– what was it again, dear?” There was a quick pause and a muffled but familiar voice in the background. “Dorothea Arnault, sir.”

Sylvain jolted fully awake now, looking quickly to his personal phone for any missed messages, but Dorothea had given him no warning of her arrival. Not that that particularly surprised him. He looked down at the phone cautiously before returning it to his ear. “And what business does Miss Arnault have with me this afternoon?” he asked, unable to control the low and flirtatious quality of his voice.

Another pause, and the receptionist came off a bit flustered as she answered: “Something about a collaboration opportunity, it would seem,” she replied, prompting an immediate chuckle from Sylvain.

“Alright, please send her up,” he said, hanging up with a click. He propelled his chair from the desk with great speed, spinning several times before standing up, which was a mistake as all the blood rushed to his head. He let out a puff of air as he hopped up and down, stretching his body this way and that before peering out the inner window self-consciously. He strolled over and closed the blinds to the office. Why were there no mirrors in here, he wondered angrily as he tried his best to adjust his hair in the reflection of his darkened monitor. After several minutes of nervous grooming, a soft knock and a melodious voice greeted him from the other side of the door. He quickly collapsed comfortably into his chair again. “Come in,” he said.

Dorothea slipped quietly through the door, closing it with a light click behind her, standing politely by the door and smiling at him. “Hello,” she greeted with a fluttery wave, gold bangles on her wrists clinking together as she moved. They matched the elaborate multi-layered gold necklace around her neck, which decorated a simple wide-necked crimson blouse that was slipping off one shoulder. It was tucked into a high-waisted pleated skirt that barely reached her mid-thigh, and a sliver of cream-colored skin showed through the gap between its hem and her sheer black stockings. Sylvain leaned back in his seat, wondering if the room had always been this hot.

“Sorry to drop by unannounced,” she began, taking off the massive sunglasses still on her face and slipping them into her purse, green eyes meeting his. “I happened to have an extra couple hours in my schedule, and I knew you were in the office today so—"

Before she could finish Sylvain had already risen from his seat and crossed the room in the blink of an eye, kissing her so suddenly she had to lean against the door for support. Dorothea moaned softly, her hands slipping into his back pockets and tugging his hips closer. She pulled away, placing a hand on his chest. “Nice to see you too,” she breathed. “But aren’t you worried about someone walking in?” she asked, though her smile and raised eyebrow showed anything but concern.

Sylvain shrugged. “Not particularly. My reputation is pretty well-known around here already,” he explained, stepping away from the glass but keeping an arm around her waist, the other motioning across the room. “We can make ourselves comfortable,” he said, taking a seat in one of the two armchairs in front of his desk. Dorothea paced around the room, observing the surroundings before circling back and plopping into his lap, legs dangling off the side as she wrapped her arms around his neck.

“Normally I find this type of conduct very unprofessional,” she said, tracing a finger along the edge of his chin. “But in this case I also find it incredibly sexy,” she added, punctuating her statement with a light tap on his nose. Sylvain sank back further into the chair, still admiring her.

“I keep hoping that if I behave badly enough my dad will finally reconsider naming me his successor,” he began. “But unfortunately he wants the whole enterprise to stay in the family, and his only other option has done much worse things.” He sighed heavily, eyes fixed on the ceiling now.

Dorothea frowned. She knew what happened to the elder Gautier son; anyone who didn’t know was either living under a rock or was too young at the time to hear about it. She had been 16 then, and her economics teacher had been all over it for a week, as if it wasn’t covered on the news enough. Miklan Gautier had run a massive embezzlement scheme at his father’s company, and multiple reports corroborated connections to several criminal organizations across Fodlan. The natural consequence was the Gautier Corporation cutting all ties with its would-be inheritor. Compared to Miklan, Sylvain was the golden boy.

She tilted his face back toward her, eyes sympathetic. Then she smiled. “You sure you can’t commit tax fraud or something?”

Sylvain smirked. “You are a bad influence, you know that?”

Dorothea sat up straighter and puffed up her chest. “Well I sure didn’t come here to get up to anything _polite_ ,” she said. Her eyes scanned the room, pausing briefly on a sofa bench set up by the wall but ultimately settling elsewhere. “How about the desk?” Sylvain eyed her curiously and she sighed. “Bend me over the desk,” she added plainly.

Excited disbelief spread over his face. “I mean… really?” He asked dumbly, cursing inwardly at how uncool he sounded right now. Dorothea swung her legs off the chair arm and hopped up from his lap, arms crossed.

“Unless you don’t think you’re up to it,” she said, pivoting away from him. “What’s wrong, not sure you can take the lead?”

Sylvain stood slowly, gripping Dorothea’s bicep and bringing his mouth to her ear, speaking in a low voice. “Of course not. Let’s go.” She shivered, allowing him to walk her to the table, his hold relaxing so he could push between her shoulder blades and hinge her forward. Dorothea braced her hands along the edge, getting comfortable in her new position. From this angle the short length of her skirt was ever more apparent, and Sylvain could see the edge of her bright red panties peeking through. “Yeah, I could get used to this,” he said, one palm laying flat against her upper back while the other guided her hips in a grinding motion.

“I bet you could,” Dorothea replied.

“Ssssh,” Sylvain whispered, bending forward so his body was flush against hers, the hand on her hip dipping lower and then traveling slowly up her thigh. His hand lingered on her rear for a moment before slipping under her skirt and into her underwear. Dorothea’s breath hitched as he made playful circles with his fingers, his breath warm on her neck. “Damn, Thea,” he breathed, slipping a finger easily inside her. “Already?”

Dorothea nodded as well as she could with her face down, moving her arms to create a pillow for her forehead. “At some point you’ll stop being surprised,” she said. Sylvain continued to move slowly, noticing how Dorothea made an effort to stifle her moans. When her body began to shake he straightened back up and dragged his nails slowly along the cloth of her shirt, sighing contentedly.

“You sound like you want it,” he said quietly, enjoying the way she squirmed as he sped up. She nodded again. Before she could muster a vocal response Sylvain kissed slowly up her neck, nibbling her ear before whispering: “I want you to beg me.”

“I—” Dorothea stuttered with apparent surprise, and took a moment to consider the request. “Okay,” she recovered, her breath growing shallow. “Please, Sylvain.”

He still had his lips on her neck. “Please what?”

She turned her head to face his as best she could, and he could just barely glimpse the want in her eyes. “Please fuck me,” she finally managed. Then, with more certainty: “Please fuck me hard.”

All at once Sylvain moved off her, withdrawing his hands and making sure to lick his fingers loud enough for her to hear.

“As you wish.”

—

The afternoon sun had begun its dip toward the horizon, softening the incoming light and enveloping the room in an ethereal glow. Sylvain lay on the office couch with one foot on the floor, chest still heaving as he fought the urge to sleep. Dorothea’s body was curled up against him, monopolizing what little space there was and wrapped up in his spare blanket.

“Hey,” he whispered, giving her shoulders a light shake. “No napping,” he said. Dorothea’s eyes fluttered open and she frowned, squeezing him tighter.

“But I’m _tired_ ,” she protested. “You wore me out.”

“Likewise,” Sylvain said. “But also kinda your fault.”

She giggled and rolled to her back, stretching her legs out and taking a rejuvenating breath. “Thank goodness there are no fluorescent lights in here,” she said as she stared at the white ceiling. Then, as if suddenly making a decision, she popped up to a seat and scanned the room, finally settling down to gaze adoringly at Sylvain. He still had his shirt on, albeit unbuttoned, and his pants lay scrunched up by the desk. Dorothea was completely naked, and began to reach for her blouse which was lying just beyond the edge of the couch.

“Wait,” Sylvain said as she leaned over him, putting a hand on her stomach that quickly reached up to her breast. “Let me look at them for a bit longer,” he added. Dorothea rolled her eyes with a smirk and nodded, scooting over until her back was against the wall, legs cross-legged next to his waist. Sylvain sat up to follow her, catching her eyes for a moment before his gaze meandered down. “They’re so….” he made a sound between a laugh and a purr, cupping each one in his hands as he leaned in closer to her. Dorothea let out a pleased sigh, and Sylvain continued to massage her breasts as he kissed her lips softly.

She caressed his cheek with her hand, ruffling his hair as he pulled away. “Alright, I’m awake now,” she said, and nodded toward her shirt. Sylvain reluctantly leaned down to scoop up the blouse, planting a quick kiss between her cleavage before handing it to her. “This is why men are easily controlled,” she pointed out as she slipped the crimson fabric over her head, smoothing out any noticeable wrinkles.

Sylvain slid to her left side, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. “Fine by me,” he breathed, and Dorothea leaned into him, intertwining her fingers with his. They sat silently, looking out at the room as they’d left it. One half of the desk had been cleared off, a few papers were strewn across the floor, and the rest of their clothes were scattered haphazardly in all the places they’d gotten busy.

“This room feels so impersonal,” Dorothea observed. “You don’t even have any photos.”

Sylvain nodded. “Just how I like it,” he said. “I try to leave as little of myself here as possible. The minute I make it my own….” he paused, considering his words carefully. “It would feel like I’ve given in and accepted this.”

Dorothea turned to look at him, but Sylvain’s eyes were far away. Even when he felt her gaze on him and faced her, it was as if a thin translucent sheet had gone up between them. “I’m sorry, you must think I’m terrible to take everything my father’s given me for granted,” he said. “The worst part is I don’t even know what I’d do instead of taking over the company. So I keep working, and I’m not half bad at it, but really I’m just going through the motions.” He closed his eyes. “Ugh, and now I’m rambling.”

“Sylvain…” Dorothea began, but couldn’t find the right words.

“Maybe just tell me I’m selfish and we can talk about something else,” he said.

“I don’t—” she stopped herself. “Fine, you’re selfish. But so is everyone else.” She rested her chin on his shoulder, tapping her fingers rhythmically against his diaphragm. “For example, I came here unannounced and interrupted your work just because I was feeling horny.”

Sylvain laughed, squeezing her closer. “Um, wow, using me for my body much?” He leaned in so their lips were mere inches apart. “Joke’s on you. Making you come is the most productive thing I’ve done all day.” Dorothea laughed now and he moved to kiss her, pausing intermittently to accommodate more and more of her uncontrolled giggles.

“Well then,” Dorothea said after finally catching her breath. “Let’s keep you busy a bit longer.”

And no more of Sylvain’s other work got done that day.

—

As a singer with a moderate, growing following, Dorothea was used to travelling in style. She wasn’t riding limos everywhere, but in general she could afford a high-end taxi cab. On multiple occasions she’d relied on connections to give her rides, like Hubert and his well-maintained Rolls Royce. Or Hilda and her fleet of pastel Volkswagen Beetles.

Unfortunately, her ride for Saturday night had bailed at the last second, and she was stuck riding through the winding roads of Garreg Mach’s hills in a beat-up Honda Civic. And Caspar von Bergliez was behind the steering wheel.

“This car is still kicking? Haven’t you had it since high school?” she’d asked warily when her overly-zealous friend rolled up in front of her building. The question was rhetorical; she remembered vividly the summer after she graduated when tiny, freshly-licensed Caspar had zipped through Enbarr, terrifying everyone with his dubious driving. At least he could better reach the pedals now.

“You sound like my boyfriend,” Caspar replied, tapping the side of his door lovingly. The car’s once-vivid electric blue paint job was now faded and peeling in a few places, but Dorothea had to admit the rest of it looked well-maintained. It was one of the few gifts Caspar had received from his father that wasn’t a hand-me-down, and he was making it count.

“And where is Linny today?” she inquired as she slid into the passenger seat.

“You know how he is with parties,” Caspar said, pulling away from the curb. “He’s been so busy with work lately, plus he’s got a side project he’s been working on,” he explained. Linhardt was a cyber-security engineer, and Dorothea was well aware of the types of side projects he worked on. They often skirted the lines of legality, and she wasn’t curious enough to ask what his latest fascination was. Still, it surprised her to hear that Linhardt was occupied rather than lazing around, especially on a Saturday.

Caspar drove them through downtown and onto the freeway, headed in the direction of the mountain range surrounding Garreg Mach. The Fraldarius estate was about an hour from the center of the city, and a half-hour beyond the monastery. Dorothea had never been there, and it was difficult to wrap her head around the idea of Felix’s father having a fancy summer home nice enough to host fundraiser parties. Mainly because Felix was not the type of man to really show his wealthy background.

“Thanks again for giving me a ride,” she said. “I was supposed to go up with Edelgard and Hubert, but she had to deal with some work last minute.”

“Yeah, I heard,” Caspar replied. “Sucks to have to work on a Saturday.”

Dorothea nodded, leaning her head against the window and watching as the scenery grew less and less developed. Suburban sprawls gave way to woods and green fields, and she could see the rolling foothills ahead of them. Her mind wandered to the conversation she’d had with Edelgard the previous night.

“I’ve received intel that some… suspicious individuals will be in attendance at the Fling tomorrow,” Edelgard had said over their tea. Dorothea stiffened at the news; she’d hoped to be able to enjoy her Saturday in peace, especially since Sylvain had promised beautiful views, quality booze and a hot tub. She knew what was coming next.

“You know I have your back, Edie,” she assured the other woman. “I can help you keep an eye out for anything unsavory.”

Edelgard’s mouth twisted into a frown. “That’s the thing. I won’t be there,” she said apologetically. “Hubert and I are following another lead that came to our attention at the same time,” she added. Dorothea’s heart sank, filled with worry for Edelgard going off on a mystery mission and for herself, being the lone lookout at such a large event. Why did everything have to happen at once?

“Do you have any more details?” Dorothea asked slowly, trying to keep her voice level even as her hands were shaking.

“No names or descriptions,” Edelgard said, her expression now more annoyed than anything, and Dorothea understood that her friend was just as upset by the events unfolding. “Just… a shadow from Enbarr,” she added ominously.

A shadow from Enbarr, Dorothea thought as the memory faded out and her focus returned to the road. Caspar had put on some music and was steering clear of engaging her in conversation; he knew her well enough to see when she was pondering. She was glad to have him with her at least, even if Edie and Hubie couldn’t be. Caspar was scrappy, and a bit slow on the uptake, but he’d been a supportive friend since they were teenagers.

She tried to calm herself down with small assurances. If Edelgard didn’t have any names, it was likely this ‘shadow’ was not anybody too high on the food chain. Still, their enemies in Enbarr were fearsome ones, and not to be underestimated. Dorothea looked down at her hands, picturing the untapped magical energy swirling just beneath her skin. Sylvain really was a powerful source, and incredibly easy for her to access. She chalked it up to having more experience with extraction now, but she also knew part of it was how well she got on with him. Magical exchanges were always most effective between two willing parties, and pure pleasure was one of the most potent energies.

Her current level of power would have to be enough to fend off any potential enemies that night, she decided confidently. And with any luck, nothing would even happen.

“So do I get to meet your boy toy tonight?” Caspar asked excitedly when he saw Dorothea’s attention wander back to him. She chuckled, trying to picture Sylvain already up at the house and helping Ingrid with party set-up. Had it not been for his involvement with the planning process, she suspected she’d be riding in Sylvain’s car right now.

“I’m pretty sure you’ve met him before, haven’t you?” she retorted.

Caspar shrugged. Yes, but always in brief bursts,” he began. “Never in the context of him dating one of my good friends! I’m sure there are all kinds of quirks and fun details I’ll learn about him now.” He was gripping the wheel excitedly, shifting into the exit lane as they approached a winding road leading up into the mountains. Dorothea smiled; Caspar had a reputation for always wanting to jump into a fight, but to her he was just an eager little gossip. It was almost embarrassing how much information he could glean from a person, putting even Dorothea’s best ‘investigation’ skills to shame.

“I don’t know what new information you’re going to learn,” she said, eyeing the thick pine tree forest they were now driving through as the road turned into a series of switchbacks going up the hill. It was late afternoon and still light out, and the thought of taking this road back in the dark of night made her uneasy. “You’re welcome to crash tonight, by the way. Sylvain and Felix gave me the okay, and I’m sure you can find a couch to sleep on.”

“Ooh, so you two are having a little sleepover,” Caspar teased. “You better make sure Felix isn’t in a nearby room,” he added, flashing a grin at her. When Dorothea gave him a confused look he elaborated: “Last year Sylvain hosted a drunken orgy in Felix’s bedroom. Well, only Felix called it an orgy. From what I heard they were playing strip poker and some folks got a bit handsy. Sylvain especially.”

Dorothea sat for a moment in stunned silence. It was an outrageous story for sure, but she couldn’t deny that she would have likely participated if she’d been around. “No wonder Felix is so reluctant to help plan this year,” she said.

“Speak of the devil,” Caspar muttered, and Dorothea realized they’d arrived at a massive set of wrought iron gates, welded into the shape of the Fraldarius family crest. It was currently closed and a large banner was being hoisted up onto it by Felix himself on one end, and Sylvain on the other. Dorothea couldn’t quite hear the men, but Felix had a critical look on his face as he addressed Sylvain, who shrugged in response as he pulled the banner higher. “Hello, boys,” Caspar called, leaning casually out of his window to catch their attention. He was met with waves, and they paused their work to walk over and inspect the vehicle.

“Is that you, von Bergliez?” Felix asked calmly, catching Dorothea’s gaze for a moment but saying nothing to her. Caspar responded by sticking his fist out the window, which Felix reluctantly bumped.

Sylvain jogged up behind Felix and pounded Caspar’s knuckles enthusiastically. “Hey man! Long time no see,” he said. He leaned forward so he could see into the car better. “And hello Dorothea,” he purred, giving her a wink. “Glad you two could make it.”

“I didn’t think you’d be here so early,” Felix interjected, motioning to the half-attached banner. “I’ll get this open for you, and the valet service should be set up by now. They can take care of you,” he said. Sylvain was shifting back and forth on the balls of his feet, looking at Felix pleadingly. “What is it,” Felix asked. “We still need to get this done, you know. Don’t ditch me.”

“But I told Dorothea I’d give her a tour,” Sylvain said with a frown. “Maybe Caspar can give you a hand?”

“Oh! Yeah, I’d love to help!” Caspar said, giving Felix a thumbs-up. Felix took a moment to consider it, eyes shifting between the two men. Caspar was certainly enthusiastic and Felix couldn’t doubt his usefulness, but he suffered from being easily distracted. Then again, so did Sylvain, so not much loss there. He relented with a nod, walking over to a control panel on the side of the gate. Caspar left the car running and stepped out, watching Sylvain and motioning to the open door. “Here, it would be easier if you just drove in with Dorothea,” he explained.

Sylvain didn’t miss a beat, sliding into the driver’s seat and facing the immediate struggle of getting his legs comfortable. His knees jutted upwards at an awkward angle, but he shrugged and loosened his shoulders, testing the pedals before shifting into drive. He swiveled his head to Dorothea with a smile. “Vroom vroom, princess,” he said, and proceeded to crawl the car along at five miles an hour through the gate.

Dorothea observed him, noting the way his pale green v-neck hugged his body; it was probably one size smaller than it needed to be. “You sound excited,” she said in an amused tone.

“I suppose I am!” Sylvain replied. “Though I was hoping the first time I got to drive you somewhere it would be in a convertible down the Rhodos Coast or something.” Moments later the vehicle stopped as they were waved down by a man in a suit, walking over from a large sign that said ‘VALET’. Sylvain exchanged a few words and handed over the keys, letting out a relieved sigh as he freed his legs from the cramped seat. “Stay right there,” he told Dorothea as he ran around to the passenger side and swung open her door, offering a hand.

"What a gentleman," she said sarcastically, but took it anyway. He smoothly pulled her close to him, their faces inches apart for a moment before he stepped to her side and wrapped an arm around her shoulder, sweeping the other wide in front of them.

"Welcome to Felix's inevitable inheritance," he announced.

She took in the view in front of them, wide-eyed. “I was expecting a big mansion,” she began. “But this is a fucking complex.”

The main house — a pristine, reserved neoclassical building — was immediately in front of them, just past a meticulously kept garden complete with topiary and a fountain. The greenery curled around the side of the building, and they followed the path to an even larger lawn where Dorothea spied caterers setting up tables and chairs amid the rows of flowers. A gazebo was positioned at the edge of a koi pond that overlooked a small orchard that eventually gave way to the forest that surrounded the estate. It was the epitome of excess and she couldn’t imagine Felix spending his childhood holidays here, even as Sylvain was relaying some of his best summer vacation stories to her. He was in the middle of a particularly embarrassing tale when they spotted a familiar face hefting around a large stack of folding chairs.

"Yoohoo, Ingrid!" Dorothea sang to the other woman, whose face promptly flushed upon noticing her. Sylvain gave his friend a casual wave as they jogged over to meet her. "Do you need a hand with anything?" she asked, placing a hand on Ingrid's arm.

"No, that's really alright, just enjoy yourself," Ingrid replied as she placed the chairs down and began setting them up next to one of the tables. She pointed accusingly at Sylvain. "You, on the other hand, are supposed to be helping Felix."

"I am helping him, by keeping our guest occupied," Sylvain retorted, almost too quickly. He flashed a grin at Dorothea. "I'm pretty sure you'd be talking his ear off right about now," he said.

She played along, giving him a coy laugh. "Oh, yes. I'm about ready to steal Ingrid away from her work too, I'm so hungry for a conversation partner." It was difficult to keep a straight face as she said it, especially when Sylvain caught her gaze and held it. Out of the corner of her eye she was faintly aware of Ingrid's attention shifting between the two of them with mild uncertainty.

Sylvain turned back to Ingrid first. "Let me show her around for just a little longer before I get back to work," he said, and it was more statement than question. Ingrid sighed and nodded, waving him off.

"Don't worry Ingrid, you're next," Dorothea said with a wink. Sylvain took her arm and began leading them further down the field, where she spotted a small house in the same style as the mansion behind them.

"That used to be our hideout, but it got expanded into a guest house when I was in high school," he explained. "Though I'm still usually up to no good when I'm in there," he added.

"I'm beginning to get the idea that you were a problem child," Dorothea teased. They'd arrived at the front porch of the guest house, where Sylvain plopped down on a worn-looking wicker couch, patting the seat next to him. As she made herself comfortable her date produced a joint from his jeans pocket, raising an eyebrow suggestively. "No thanks," she said. "It's a bit early for that, I think." The truth, of course, was that unlike alcohol, weed actually still affected her. And she had to be alert tonight.

Sylvain gave her an exaggerated pout and tucked the roll away, leaning towards her. "Maybe you want something else," he said in a low voice, and kissed her. She gladly accepted. "I'm so happy you made it out here today," he added, running the pad of his thumb along her lower lip. His touch lingered there for a moment while she looked into his eyes, trying not to overthink the gesture or his words.

"I wouldn't miss it," she assured him, her hand resting on his thigh. Before she could say more they heard Ingrid’s voice tentatively testing the speaker system across the lawn. “Though I feel like you only asked me here early to get out of chores,” she added sardonically, rising from the bench and peering into the window, trying to get a glimpse of the inside.

“Of course not,” Sylvain said, taking hold of her hand. When Dorothea fixed him with a doubtful smile he folded. “Alright, maybe a little bit. But I did plenty of organizing before today,” he added, leaning back in his seat and spreading his arms out wide against the back of the couch. “Social media marketing is _exhausting_.”

Dorothea rolled her eyes, taking the opportunity to straddle his lap. “I’m sure it is,” she said, playing with his hair and giggling at the way he got flustered. Sylvain’s eyes moved back and forth between her and the scene behind, as if he were expecting Ingrid to burst in and scold them any moment. She nodded towards the door. “I assume you’re crashing here tonight? Why not show me the hideout?”

His attention settled back on her. “Sure, sure,” he agreed, placing his hands on her waist as she eased off him. He stepped over and turned the knob, motioning her inside to a foyer that stepped down into a wide living room. It was framed by a massive L-shaped leather couch and a sleek wooden coffee table, the kind that looked rustic but in an obviously expensive way. A large flat-screen television was mounted above the brick fireplace that rose high towards the room’s vaulted ceiling. On the far end she could see a well-equipped kitchen.

“And this is just the guest house,” she mumbled to herself, running a hand along the back of the sofa and marveling at how smooth and soft the upholstery felt.

“Yeah, I’m not planning to sleep on the couch though,” Sylvain said, still standing by the door. When Dorothea turned around he was motioning down the hallway that presumably housed the bedrooms. She hopped excitedly over to him, following as he turned into the second door on the left. “Normally I stay in the next room over, but I thought you might like this one.” He motioned triumphantly to the canopy bed that dominated the floor space.

Her eyes lit up, and she showed her appreciation by taking Sylvain by the hand and planting a quick kiss on the cheek before hopping onto the mattress, bouncing herself up and down lightly. “So sweet, if not a bit presumptuous,” she teased, crawling herself further onto the bed and sighing as she splayed herself out.

Sylvain took a seat to her side. “I mean, I could definitely take the couch if you don’t want company…” he said, looking at her pleadingly. Dorothea sighed and took hold of his arm, tugging him over. “Hey!” he exclaimed, deftly avoiding a collision and finding himself lying next to her. She snuggled up against him quietly, closing her eyes. “Someone’s getting comfortable.”

“Let’s just skip the party and nap instead,” she purred, noting the scent of his cologne.

“Woah! Who are you, and what have you done with Dorothea?” The question was met with her pushing up to a seat, watching him dreamily as she pushed up the cloth of his shirt and ran her hands along the soft hair on his stomach, fingertips pushing lightly into the muscles. She locked eyes with him and Sylvain reached an arm around her waist, pulling her back down into a kiss. “Alright, that’s definitely you,” he said as she rolled back to his side. They lay in silence for a moment before he let out a reluctant sigh. “I have to go back and help Felix and Ingrid, don’t I.”

Dorothea laughed and nodded. “As much as Caspar loves being helpful, he already drove me here. I think he could use a break,” she said. A light jingle began to play from her purse at the edge of the bed. “Speaking of,” she added, crawling over and retrieving her phone. “Hey there, big bro,” she greeted playfully.

Unfortunately the voice on the other end was not Caspar. “Hey, tell that idiot he left his phone over here, and also that we need his help carrying stuff.”

“Hmm, of course, Felix. We’ll be over in a few minutes.” She moved her hand audibly on the bed, pretending to look for something. “Just gotta put my shirt back on…”

Felix’s embarrassed scoff made the charade worth it. “Just be quick! Bergliez is way too enthusiastic and he’s definitely gonna try to carry more than he should,” he said before quickly hanging up.

Sylvain had propped himself up on his elbows, looking at her with disappointment on his face. “Guess our time’s up, huh?”

She shrugged, watching him with a wry smile and hands on her hips. “To be continued.”

—

Dorothea found herself back on the couch outside the guesthouse, Caspar seated next to her and watching intently as Sylvain swung wine cases around like they weighed nothing. “Look at that!” he exclaimed. “I need to know what his routine is.”

She took a slow sip of the expensive-looking craft beer she’d found in the fridge. “I can’t tell if you’re being gay or just a workout buff,” she said without looking at him. Her gaze was instead fully focused on the scene in front of them.

Caspar chuckled. “Why can’t it be both?” He turned to watch her watching Sylvain, nudging her arm in an attempt to wrest her attention away. “Impressive. I haven’t seen you this into a guy since we left Enbarr,” he added. Sylvain had placed the boxes down and was now jokingly flexing at Felix until the latter gave him a reluctant high five. “Not that I blame you. If I didn’t already have a boyfriend…”

Dorothea narrowed her eyes at him, smiling. “I’m telling Lin,” she said.

“He’d say the same thing,” Caspar replied matter-of-factly.

They both watched quietly for a few moments, and Dorothea bowed her head in embarrassment when Sylvain caught her eye and waved at the two of them, blowing a kiss in her direction. He was still smiling at her when she looked up again, trying to start a silent conversation but being thwarted by Ingrid tapping him on the shoulder and presumably giving him more things to do. Dorothea leaned back over to Caspar, speaking in a low voice. “Hey, does this place seem normal to you?”

Caspar looked puzzled by the question. "Uh, I guess as normal as an extravagant summer estate can be, I guess," he said, taking a quick glance around. "I mean, Felix doesn't look _this_ loaded. Though I think he told me he spent three-hundred dollars on a sweater once."

"I meant does anybody seem suspicious," Dorothea elaborated, but Caspar didn't have much more of an answer. "Like the caterers or the valet," she added, wiggling uncomfortably in her seat.

"Seemed friendly enough to me," Caspar said, though he was now eyeing her suspiciously. "Are you expecting them not to be?"

Dorothea shook her head. "Just let me know if you see anything out of the ordinary." She felt a hand on her shoulder, and turned to meet Caspar's hard stare. "What?" she asked, putting on her best innocent face.

"Oh man. You're doing reconnaissance for Edelgard, aren't you?" He waved his hand dismissively when she tried to respond. "Don't deny it, you have your detective face on." Dorothea tried and failed to hide her reactions to his next barrage of questions. "Is she expecting something to happen at this party? Do we know who it is?" His expression changed to light disappointment. "I'm a bit sad she didn't ask me, honestly."

"She didn't know you'd be here," Dorothea quickly explained. "And I'm better equipped to handle this sort of thing anyway," she added. "Forget I asked. Enjoy the party."

"I can help you out _and_ enjoy the party," Caspar said. "Besides," he added, nodding in Sylvain's direction. "You have a date! Edelgard obviously didn't think of that." He smiled softly. "You don't have to do everything she asks you to. You're not Hubert."

"I enjoy helping Edie. And it's not like I don't have a stake in all this," Dorothea said. "Whoever's supposed to show up tonight, they're related to everything that happened in Enbarr." Her eyes drifted off into space, trying to prevent herself from accessing those memories. "If it brings us one step closer to ending all this, I'll do it."

Caspar sighed. "I worry about you, you know. Lin does too," he said, once again turning her to look at him. "Because it's only been six months since you got out of Enbarr, and we left for a reason. You shouldn't have to still be dealing with this. Not this soon."

"I don't have much of a choice," Dorothea mumbled.

"Everything alright over here?" Sylvain's voice jerked her upright, struggling to regain her composure as she greeted him with a big smile. He spoke again before she could respond. "I'm officially done with helping out, and guests should be arriving soon." He reached into his back pocket, rubbing the joint from earlier between his fingers. "Any chance you're in the mood for this now?"

Caspar hopped up first. "You just keep getting cooler, dude," he said, exchanging a look with Dorothea. She rolled her eyes and relented. It wouldn't hurt to relax a bit, she thought.

"Alright," she said, taking the hand he'd extended to her. Something about his presence brought her an immediate, unquestionable calm. And a spark ran through her as he pulled her up, the momentum bringing their bodies incredibly close. His arm moved smoothly around her waist as he handed the joint to Caspar and dug out a lighter. The latter flashed her a reassuring smile.

"I sincerely hope you two are ready to party," Sylvain announced. "Because the Fraldarius Fundraiser Fling has officially begun!"

Dorothea took a deep breath. "Then let's rock and roll."


	5. An Abundance of Party Fouls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Fraldarius Fling is in full swing. Sylvain and Dorothea enjoy the festivities, even as they both work to advance their own separate agendas. Obstacles are encountered. After all, what's a party without a couple fouls?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaand we're back after a long-ass break! The lengthiest chapter so far, and one I've been looking forward to writing for a while (even if it took me forever to actually do it). More plot than romantic fluff in this one, but I hope y'all enjoy it. :)

The Fraldarius estate, a quaint and elegant retreat by day, had transformed into a booming revelry by nightfall. On the main lawn, a large crowd had gathered by a stage that was blasting electronic music. As the dancing group thinned, out other partygoers were mingling and drinking, or grazing on tapas from the large buffet laid out along the edge of the garden. String lights hovered over the scene, bathing everything in a soft light even as night loomed at the edge of the woods.

And Felix, their reluctant host, observed the party with beer in hand, leaning against the clean white balcony of the third-floor bedroom. He’d played nice and entertained as many guests as he could, but there was only so much alcohol could do to loosen him up and make him social. Besides, playing the role of aloof heir while Ingrid and Sylvain managed the spotlight generally worked out just fine.

His ears perked up at the soft creak of footsteps behind him. He recognized the gait by sound alone, and took a sip of his drink while his eyes remained fixed ahead, unfazed. Ignorance wouldn’t do any good in the long run, but it did give him a precious few more moments of quiet.

“Isn’t it a bit early to be retreating to the high tower?” Sylvain’s voice called out from behind him. Felix shrugged and ignored the question, peeking to his left as Sylvain strolled over, leaning his elbows onto the wood and taking in the view. A grin spread wide across his face, lighting up his brown eyes. Felix wasn’t too surprised to see Sylvain happy at a party, but he did seem a bit more pleased with himself than expected.

“Don’t you have a girlfriend you should be dancing with?” Felix asked.

“Oh, so you’re cool with calling her my girlfriend now,” Sylvain teased, nudging Felix’s shoulder. The latter only shook his near-empty beer in response, as if admitting he was too drunk to care about his words. Sylvain inched a bit closer, pointing out to a spot in the crowd below them. Dorothea had made herself comfortable dancing with Hilda Goneril and a group of unknown girls. “She’s having plenty of fun at the moment,” he continued, suddenly mesmerized by the way Dorothea spun herself around with carefree grace, the shimmery fabric of her skirt catching the light as it twirled.

Felix took a step back and watched Sylvain watch Dorothea, leaning a hand on the railing while placing the other on his hip. He stood silently for several moments before clearing his throat irritably and regaining the other man’s attention. Sylvain rolled his eyes and straightened up, placing a hand on Felix’s shoulder. “And since she’s having a blast, I felt it was a good time to check and see that my best friend was having one too,” he said. Felix tensed and then relaxed, slipping out of Sylvain’s loose grip and crossing his arms.

“I’m about as good as I can be with a bunch of strangers running around my dad’s house,” Felix replied. “And there's been no party mischief so far," he continued, arching an eyebrow at Sylvain. "Though I have a hunch that's about to change."

Sylvain shifted weight between the balls of his feet and grinned guiltily. He pulled something small and shiny out of his pocket, dangling a set of keys in front of Felix. "I'm thinking it's jacuzzi time," he said. "Special invite only, of course."

His suggestion was met with a hard stare that eventually broke into a smile. Felix downed the rest of his drink, slamming the empty bottle decisively on the table. "I thought you'd never ask."

—

Dorothea lowered herself into the hot water with a sigh of relief, echoed louder by a sloshed Hilda sinking down to her neck against the jets. Steam rose up and dissipated into the open air, illuminated by bright color-changing lights on the floor of the tub. She spied Felix exchanging an annoyed glance with Sylvain, tilting his head toward Hilda who continued to hum excitedly. "We need some tunes," she slurred, bumping shoulders with Dorothea before drifting away. Sylvain hopped up eagerly, water dripping down his legs as he stepped toward the audio jack along the back wall.

"Please no top 40 shit," Felix said, craning his neck toward his friend as if that would give him more control over the situation.

“Have more faith in me, Fe,” Sylvain sighed, tapping away at his phone. He noticed Dorothea’s eyes on him and shifted his hips back and forth playfully as smooth guitar enveloped the patio. He slipped into the water next to her, wrapping an arm around her shoulder and pulling her closer. “Hey,” he breathed, giving her a light squeeze.

Hilda waded over, her pink hair tied up in a massive bun that bobbed back and forth on top of her head. “Thea, I’m so glad you showed up tonight,” she said. “Claude and Marianne both bailed on me, would you believe it?”

“Sounds like that’s the thing to do now,” a voice called from the patio entrance. Caspar strolled over, stripping down to his boxers. “Edelgard was supposed to be here tonight, too,” he added as he splashed into the tub.

“You invited von Bergliez?” Dorothea heard Felix whisper to Sylvain, who responded with a noncommittal shrug. Felix’s face flushed briefly when he realized she was listening in. She promptly ignored him, breaking free from Sylvain’s arms and slipping between Caspar and Hilda, grabbing a few beer cans from the cooler at the edge of the water. “Thanks,” Felix mumbled quietly as she handed him one.

Sylvain planted a kiss on her temple as she leaned her cheek against his shoulder, the heat of his skin making her lightheaded. Hilda was already chatting Caspar's ear off, and Felix was quietly enjoying his drink and the music. Dorothea smiled, feeling the weight of social obligation lift off her chest.

She had spent half the party on edge and the other half maintaining a carefree facade. Garreg Mach residents were beginning to recognize her more often, and tonight she'd run into a few folks who remembered her from Enbarr as well. At least back home she'd had her fellow Mittlefrank performers to help with handling fans; the difficulties of starting a solo career were beginning to overwhelm her. Not that she hated the spotlight, but it wasn't conducive to investigative work. Or normalcy.

For the first time that night she felt fully relaxed, surrounded by friends old and new. Caspar locked eyes with her briefly, fixing her with a knowing smile before getting back to nodding along to Hilda's story. She made a note to tease him about that later.

"Hey." Sylvain's low voice repeated the greeting from earlier and pulled Dorothea out of her thoughts. She ran her fingers along his thigh, debating whether to go further while the bubbles conveniently concealed them. This was their friends’ first time seeing them together, and for that she was playing with the concept of restraint. Which made the man sitting next to her all the more tempting, and the desire to touch him all the more thrilling. “Are you having a good time?” Sylvain asked, the concern in his voice dampening her hunger.

Dorothea considered the question and answered honestly. “More so than I was before,” she said. “I needed an escape from the crowd,” she added, shifting her body to face him and nudging her leg lightly against his.

If the action affected Sylvain in any way, he was very good at hiding it. “VIP hot tub time is the only way we can get Felix to agree to hosting,” he explained. “And who am I to say no to a bit of skin and heat? Turns out my friends know what I need better than I do, sometimes. Isn’t that right, Fe?”

“I’d say most of the time, but you only seem to listen when debauchery is involved,” Felix responded from behind Sylvain, taking a sip of his beer. He leaned forward to meet Dorothea’s gaze. “If you manage to find a way to improve his impulse control and give him a sense of self-preservation, please let me know,” he added.

She looked at Felix in disbelief before shifting her eyes back to meet Sylvain, who was smiling warmly, his face flushed from the steam and alcohol. “I don’t think I can help much with impulse control,” she said. “I’m nothing but trouble in that department.” Her hand reached up to ruffle Sylvain’s hair, quietly pondering Felix’s self-preservation comment. He’d said it nonchalantly, but after hearing the way Sylvain talked about his future it made her wonder. Sylvain leaned into her touch and she looked at him, trying to silently assure him that everything would be alright.

“Hey lovebirds,” Hilda called. “Just kiss already!”

“Cool it, Hilda,” Caspar said softly, placing a hand on her shoulder and eyeing Dorothea apologetically. Hilda shrugged him off with a pout, snatching Caspar’s beer and taking a swig.

“Well _somebody_ needs to start making out around here,” she said, eyes scanning the tub.

Dorothea raised an eyebrow at Sylvain before turning back to the other woman. “Are you volunteering, Hilda?” She asked, dipping low into the water and beckoning her over, a grin spreading wide across her face. Hilda’s cheeks flushed bright red and she splashed nervously in Dorothea’s direction, shaking her head. “I’m serious!” Dorothea insisted, though her laughter undermined the point. “What happens in the hot tub stays in the hot tub,” she added.

Sylvain finally chimed in. “Come on, Hilda. I’m sure you’ll like it,” he said, nodding approvingly as he formed an OK sign with his hand. Suspicion grew on his face when Dorothea crossed her arms and turned to him, her expression mischievous.

“Looks like we have our second volunteer,” she said, relishing the combination of shock, excitement and uncertainty on Sylvain’s face. “I’m sure you’ll like it,” she added, eyes still on her date. There was a confident glint in his eyes as he settled finally on determination, turning back to Hilda and motioning her over. Dorothea joined in, and Caspar gave Hilda an encouraging pat on the back that was met with an annoyed glare.

“I can’t believe you guys,” Hilda groaned in defeat, wading over to Sylvain. Dorothea leaned back against the wall of the tub, motioning between the two expectantly. “Heeere we go,” she said, giggling nervously now that Sylvain was looming over her.

There was a long silence as the two looked at each other, Sylvain doing the bulk of the initial work by leaning in until their faces hovered mere inches apart. Hilda’s breath steadied into slow inhales and exhales as she chewed her lips indecisively. Then she shot forward like a viper, planting the quickest peck on Sylvain’s cheek before pulling away, shaking her head. “I can’t do it, it’s too weird,” she said, fingers massaging her temples as she floated back towards the drink cooler.

Sylvain sighed deeply, closing the now open space between him and Dorothea. “I think we should just give the people what they want,” he purred.

“For the record, I do not want this,” Felix called from behind, finally breaking his uncharacteristic silence.

Dorothea rolled her eyes and straightened up, cupping Sylvain’s face in her hands as she took his lips in hers. They held steadily together and the tub suddenly felt ten degrees hotter as Dorothea savored the taste of him, the way his body softened against her. She’d been waiting for this moment all night, and it was as perfect as she’d imagined it. Even with Hilda and Caspar’s bright cheering in the background as they finally parted. Their fingers remained intertwined under the water, gazes locked on each other in a silent understanding. They needed to get out of here.

—

Sylvain closed the guest room door with a soft click, and Dorothea felt the remaining sliver of her self control drain out. There was a light thud as she pinned him against the wood, fingers sliding into his hair and under the cloth of his shirt as her lips hungrily met his. She could taste traces of alcohol on his breath, though his deft movements to unhook the back of her dress suggested he wasn’t particularly hindered by drink. But while Sylvain was at most tipsy, Dorothea found herself intoxicated by him in a way she hadn’t thought possible.

“I thought we weren’t going to make it for a bit there,” he breathed, as the fabric of her halter top fell forward to expose her bare breast. He steadied her hips as her dress slid down to the floor, stifling a moan as Dorothea’s mouth found its way to his neck and chest. She curbed the urge to tear his shirt off, breaking away patiently as he pulled it over his head before continuing her cascade of kisses down his exposed shoulders, her tongue lightly tracing the edge of his clavicle.

“Longest walk of my life,” she said with a relieved sigh, collapsing her body into his. There was a pause as she let her thoughts catch up with her, relaxing into the heat and the delightful feeling of skin on skin. With her ear against his chest she heard Sylvain’s heartbeat gradually slow, his own face nestling into the crook of her neck. The low thrum of music drifted in from the party, a soft reminder that the world continued on apart from them. “I’d blame you, but it seems we’re both quite popular,” she added, recalling the eyes on them as they’d pushed through the crowd, all the greetings and conversation starters and social obligations.

Sylvain hummed in wordless acknowledgement, and she appreciated his silence. And his arms wrapped around her waist. And the way he smelled like cedar and earth — had he always?

Dorothea inhaled deeply and broke away, taking his hand and pulling him further into the room until she was leaning at the edge of the bed. He had a distracted look in his eyes and she wondered for a moment if maybe he was more inebriated than she’d thought. “Everything alright?” she asked, tapping her fingers lightly against Sylvain’s cheek.

Her question was met with a laugh and a nod. “Just looking at you,” he said, leaning forward so that their foreheads met and prompting her to giggle with him. “And how perfect you are,” he added, though his words came out slightly slurred. He paused, noting the fuzzy quality of his voice. “Ooh, I get it. You think I’m _drunk_ , don’t you, Miss Arnault?”

“Hey, you’re the one who said it, not me,” Dorothea replied, interlacing her fingers around the nape of his neck and playing with the little tufts of unruly red hair.

“Well could a drunk guy do _this_?” Sylvain took her wrist gently and moved it down his chest, over his belly button and finally setting her hand lightly on his crotch, which was noticeably hard.

She rolled her eyes, but didn’t remove her hand. “I mean, sometimes they may have trouble, but it’s not particularly impressive.” Her voice grew light and soft at the end as she fluttered her fingers, noticing the way his breath caught as she continued stroking him over his jeans.

Sylvain leaned into her touch. “How about…” His voice trailed off as Dorothea’s movements grew quicker, her fingers moving toward his fly. “Alright, nevermind,” he said, hands gripping her waist as he lifted her from the edge and slid her fully onto the bed, following quickly and kissing her hard. Dorothea’s hands resumed their task, unbuttoning Sylvain’s pants and slipping her fingers into his boxers to hold his full length. “Fuck, Dorothea,” he breathed, only managing to halfway buck off his jeans.

“Looks like you need some help,” she observed playfully, continuing to stroke him with one hand while the other slid his legs completely free. “There,” she said, looking at the bundle of fabric mischievously. “That’s enough of those.” Dorothea tossed the pants ceremoniously against the wall, realizing a moment too late that she’d put a bit too much force behind the throw. They both paused as something in the pocket flew out, hitting the bedside table with a hard thud. Followed shortly by a beeping noise from somewhere else in the room.

She felt Sylvain’s body tense up underneath her, a distinct unease building in his face. Dorothea’s eyes narrowed, and she released him for a moment. “Uh, what was that?”

“Easy there,” Sylvain said, turning toward the source of the thud. “You can really throw, can’t you?”

Dorothea waved the question off, her gaze moving several times between the bedside table, Sylvain, and what she perceived to be the source of the beeping. “There was something in your pocket,” she began, sliding off the bed and kneeling onto the floor, feeling around until she found a thin rectangular object underneath Sylvain’s discarded jeans. At first glance it felt like a cellphone, but as she turned it over she realized it was some kind of remote control. “Sylvain…”

He’d hopped off the bed to follow her, placing a hand on her back as she examined the remote. “They’re for speakers,” he explained quickly, but Dorothea was reading all the buttons.

“This is a camera brand,” Dorothea replied, looking Sylvain in the eyes. He was acting way too nervous about this.

“They make speakers too,” Sylvain stuttered, avoiding her gaze now.

She pointed to a red circle on the remote. “This is a record button,” she said. Then, after examining it for a moment, she pressed it and heard a slightly different beep from before. Things were officially getting weird. Edelgard’s words echoed in her head: ‘a shadow from Enbarr’. But that didn’t make sense… couldn’t make sense. If Sylvain was involved in something fishy she’d have heard about it already. Hubert was thorough about these things.

Dorothea shook her head, eliminating that possibility. Nonetheless, he was up to something and she was pretty sure she wouldn’t like it. She turned to Sylvain, determination in her eyes. “Don’t move.” Sylvain’s breathing was audible even as she stood to walk toward the sound, examining the dresser across from the bed. There were various knick-knacks and decorations, but nothing that looked like a camera.

Her instincts pointed her toward a beautiful lacquered box, adorned on the sides by gemstones and an ornate lock that prevented her from opening it. The craftsmanship was foreign but familiar, possibly from Sreng. Almost certainly from Sreng, she decided a moment later. “Sylvain,” she commanded, motioning him over. He stepped quietly toward her, shoulders scrunched up by his ears. “What’s in this box?” When he stared at the piece wordlessly she nudged him and waved the remote, motioning towards the button. “I’m giving you one chance to tell me the truth.”

Sylvain pinched the bridge of his nose with his fingers, eyes pleading with her. Then, finally: “It’s a camera,” he said, hands sliding open the top drawer of the dresser and procuring a small, metallic key that matched the metalwork on the box. He opened it with a click, withdrawing a small cube and placing it in the palm of her hand. Dorothea weighed it for a few moments, noting the smooth metal and an obvious camera lens on one end. Her eyes returned to the interior of the box, noting that some of the gemstones on the front were actually embedded into the wall and could act as a one-way window. If she weren’t beginning to boil with fury, Dorothea would actually be fascinated and impressed by the whole setup. Especially since this was Sylvain they were talking about.

But ultimately the fury won out, and Dorothea fixed Sylvain with an icy glare. “Do you care to tell me why you had a hidden camera in here?” Her finger jabbed into his chest. “Which you were clearly planning to use in some way tonight?” Another jab, more aggressive this time. “ _Without telling me?_ ” Her hand balled into a shaking fist, and she felt hot tears forming in her eyes that she wished would evaporate.

“Dorothea, please, it’s not what you think—” Sylvain started. “I mean, it sort of is, I guess, but it probably also isn’t—”

She made a zipping motion with her fingers, shaking her head. “For goddess’ sake, Sylvain, you could at least be direct about whatever bullshit explanation you’re going to feed me,” she said as she crossed her arms, suddenly feeling a chill wind coming through the window. Warm hands fell on her shoulders, stilling the shivers she wasn’t even aware of until that moment. Sylvain looked her in the eyes, clearly thinking of what to say. He opened and closed his mouth before something clicked in his head and he nodded decisively.

“Look, I think I saw something I shouldn’t have,” he said, the words careful and slow. “The first time we were together, at your place. But if it’s not what I think it was, and I was just drunk or hallucinating or whatever, I’m going to sound very crazy.”

Dorothea froze. Was he talking about what she thought he was? She’d expected some kind of ridiculous explanation, but certainly not this.

“It’s so crazy that I needed proof. And there was only one way I knew how to get it,” he continued, removing his hands from her shoulders and tapping the camera that Dorothea had set back down on the dresser. There was a long pause as he let the words sink in. “You’re probably thinking I’m some weirdo who likes to record sex tapes without permission. I’m no saint, but I sure as hell wouldn’t do something that awful, Dorothea. You have to believe me on that.”

She remained silent, her mind now moving a mile a minute. Sylvain’s words were difficult to process, but all she could do at this point was feign ignorance and keep the onus on him. How could he have remembered anything strange about that night? Her memory bind should have worked. It had worked at the Hresvelg party the night they met. She’d made sure.

“Dorothea?” Sylvain was trying to meet her gaze, expecting a response.

“I… believe you. About the sex tape, I mean,” she said, not fully cognizant of what she was saying. She just knew she had to say something. Her green eyes peered up at him, regaining some of her composure. She needed damage control, now. “What do you think you saw, exactly?”

He took a step toward her, hands hovering above her shoulders. “May I?” Dorothea nodded, allowing him to touch her again. His fingers moved a lock of hair behind her ears. “These were pointed,” he said uneasily. His fingertips moved up toward her hairline, and his voice gained more confidence. “Horns here.” Dorothea avoided his gaze, suddenly finding it very difficult to hold her glamor. From the crown of her head he moved down and tapped her upper lip lightly. “Fangs.” He stepped around to her back, running his hands over her shoulder blades. “And finally, wings.”

As he walked back around to face her she managed to wipe all shock from her face, stifling a laugh she knew would come off as guilty. Instead she nodded at him, taking a breath. “You’re right. That does sound crazy.”

Sylvain looked away from her, nodding, and she thought she saw irritation welling up in his eyes. Was he holding back tears? “Yeah, I figured you would say that,” he said. He stepped silently across the room, scooping up his jeans and slipping back into them. Dorothea picked up his shirt and handed it over as he moved over to the doorway, not making eye contact.

“Hey, are you alright?” Dorothea asked, confused. Sylvain’s back was to her, his hand on the doorknob. He paused at her question. Then turned around, slowly, and the budding irritation had bloomed into disappointment.

“I’m drunk, Dorothea,” he said, running a hand through his hair. “Less so now, but it’s a bad time to have this discussion.” He looked at her with a shrug. “I’m sorry about the camera. I just hope you’re telling me the truth right now. Because I’m being completely honest with you, and it would really suck to not get the same thing back.”

“Sylvain,” she muttered, unable to find more words. He’d already turned back to leave. And she truly didn’t have anything to say that wouldn’t add ten more layers of complexity to the situation. How had he managed to flip this around on her?

All she could do was stand silently as he walked away.

—

As soon as Sylvain stepped out the door of the guesthouse, another hour passed by in a hazy blur of smoke and music. The next thing he was conscious of was his leaning against one of the steps in the garden, surrounded by a group of party-goers he barely knew who were handing him the joint he’d lit up. He took a half-hearted puff, assessing the situation. Yeah, this all tracked. After fumbling around in his pockets he realized he’d left his phone by the hot tub. “Anybody have the time?”

“It’s a quarter to one,” a familiar voice called out from behind him, followed quickly by a hand shaking his shoulder aggressively. Sylvain giggled, peering up at the amber eyes and frown combo directed at him.

“Feeee, so good to see you!” he greeted his friend, holding out his hand for a high five. Instead Felix slapped a phone into his empty palm. His phone, he vaguely registered. “I left this! Thank you!” Sylvain motioned to the group, trying to get their attention. “Everyone, our wonderful host, Mister Felix Hugo Fral—”

“We are going somewhere else,” Felix interrupted, grabbing Sylvain’s arm and jerking him upward. He waved half-heartedly to the group, his voice turning unsettlingly saccharine. “Thank you all so much for coming. Enjoy the rest of the evening, and perhaps sunrise? I have no idea when this is going to end. Nobody ever seems to want to leave,” he added, continuing to tug on Sylvain.

“Keep the joint,” Sylvain called, finally relenting and letting Felix drag him away. “My gift. To you. Rock on.”

Once they were out of earshot, Felix set Sylvain down on one of the stone benches near the koi pond. “I just saw Dorothea sitting by herself and downing three glasses of wine in the last hour. What the fuck happened?”

Sylvain rolled his head back with a sigh. “Don’t you ever get sick of asking me that question, Fe? I think I finally am,” he said.

Felix sighed. “I’m just concerned, Sylvain. Genuinely concerned. Dorothea Arnault is not the kind of woman I want to be angry with you.”

“Right, because if she’s angry at me some of that fury might rub off onto you. I’ve been incredibly selfish and forgotten to consider the wellbeing of everybody. Again.”

“That’s not what I’m talking about!” Felix exclaimed. “Something clearly happened that upset both of you. I’m sure it’s complicated. But maybe we should…” Felix trailed off, reluctant to finish the statement. “Maybe we should. Talk about it,” he finally managed to get out.

Sylvain stared straight ahead, hearing Felix’s words but not wanting to respond. What was he supposed to say? That he’d done the exact thing Felix warned him not to do, gotten caught up in some stupid delusions and jeopardized his entire relationship? Or that he’d actually stumbled onto some ridiculous truth, gotten involved in something far beyond his scope of understanding and also caught Dorothea in a lie, jeopardizing his entire relationship? He did not like the commonality between either option. And he certainly did not want a Felix ‘I Told You So’ frown. That was the worst kind of Felix frown.

He settled on saying something unrelated but arguably worse. “You never wanted to talk about Annette. Or Dimitri. Or—”

“Don’t.” Felix’s voice had dropped an octave, and Sylvain could sense the deep anger rumbling underneath. Sylvain nodded, well aware of the pain he was threatening to dig up. He relented. “I’m not ready,” Felix added, his voice soft now. “I might be ready to talk about Annette soon, though. I’ll let you know when I am.”

Sylvain sighed. “Sorry. Sometimes it’s difficult to know where I stand with you, Fe.”

“It isn’t about– wait, this conversation is completely about you. Stop trying to avoid it,” Felix grumbled, punching Sylvain’s arm. A playful punch, but this was Felix so it still fucking hurt.

“You got me,” Sylvain shrugged. He thought back to Dorothea. “We had an argument. There might be some dishonesty. I don’t really know how to handle it. Usually when this happens, I’m perfectly fine with disengaging and just moving on with my life.”

Felix nodded. “I’m aware.”

Sylvain’s nose scrunched up in mild surprise. “You are?” He paused. “I mean– alright. Anyway. Usually I quit when things get tough, but right now… I don’t want to.”

“So don’t.”

“What?”

Felix let out another sigh, turning Sylvain to face him. “Things are tough, but you don’t want to give up. So don’t. Keep moving forward. Figure it out with her,” he said. “Your gut is telling you something, so you should listen to it.”

Sylvain nodded triumphantly. “Yeah, I should!” He smiled, giving Felix a hard pat on the back. “I’m going to work it out!” he exclaimed, standing up from the bench. A moment later he looked expectantly back down at his friend. “How do I work it out, exactly?”

“Um,” Felix mumbled, suddenly uncertain whether he’d given advice properly. “Well, you should talk to her first. Maybe say the same thing you just said to me? About not wanting to quit when things get tough?”

There was a long pause as Sylvain sat back down, and they both came to the same conclusion.

“I need to ask Ingrid,” Sylvain said matter-of-factly, fishing his phone out of his pocket.

“You absolutely do,” Felix agreed.

“Speak of the devil. I have several messages and three missed calls from her,” Sylvain observed, squinting at the screen.

“Yeah, me too,” Felix added with a gulp. That couldn’t be good. Sylvain took a look at the messages first.

**> Ingrid:** Where are you? We have a situation!

**> Ingrid:** Meet me by the guest house, stat

They were all recent, within the last ten minutes. Felix was already dialing Ingrid’s number, while Sylvain was beckoning him in the direction of the guest house. “Hey, Ingrid? Yes! Sorry! I understand it’s an emergency! Sylvain is stoned out of his mind and we were just having a talk about… stuff.”

“I’m not that stoned! I can help!” Sylvain yelled toward the receiver. Felix waved him off, focusing on Ingrid.

“Yes, we’re on our way now. Talk to you in a bit,” he finished, pocketing the phone and jogging to catch up with Sylvain. “She still didn’t tell me what’s going on, but we’ll find out soon enough.”

Sylvain was rubbing his hands together excitedly. “I wonder what happened. It must be pretty bad if Ingrid is asking _us_ for help,” he said. Felix narrowed his eyes at being lumped in with the stoned idiot, but it was true that Ingrid didn’t usually bother him with these things.

They reached the guesthouse quickly, greeting an extremely stern-faced Ingrid and, much to Sylvain’s dismay, Dorothea. Ingrid was listening intently to a spectacled man of short stature that Sylvain quickly recognized. “Ignatz Victor? I didn’t know you were coming tonight!” He raised his arm for a handshake but an annoyed look from Ingrid urged him to reel it in. Reluctantly he stepped over to Dorothea, who was avoiding his eyes. “Hey,” he greeted in his best casual voice. She echoed it back to him nonchalantly.

“Alright, here’s the situation,” Ingrid said, beckoning the three of them over. “Ignatz came here with someone and she’s missing. She went to grab something from Sylvain’s room and hasn’t been seen since. No response to call or text, obviously. We’ve looked around the house and the party grounds, so we’re beginning to suspect foul play.”

Ignatz stepped forward. “Her name’s Flayn. You might’ve heard of her, her father’s locally known.”

“Um, ‘locally known’ is a bit of an understatement. Her father’s on the city council and heavily involved in the church,” Sylvain said. “What was she going into my room for?” Sylvain asked. “And when did that happen?” He glanced at Dorothea. “I was in there like an hour ago and didn’t see anything odd,” he added.

“She’s not super used to big parties like this one, and she had a headache,” Ignatz continued. “Ingrid told me that Sylvain had some ibuprofen in his room. That was about forty minutes ago,” he said.

“Has anyone checked the woods?” Dorothea asked. Sylvain noted she seemed surprisingly lucid for having just drank three glasses of wine. Ingrid shook her head.

“The forest around here is massive,” Felix said. “Easy to get lost in, especially in the dark. Even if we wanted to check, odds are low we would find her within a reasonable time limit.” He paused, looking out at the edge of the field where the trees began to grow thick. “We know the paths around here pretty well though, Ingrid. If we coordinate with security we could probably organize a search of the likely places.”

Dorothea motioned to the three childhood friends. “You all should get started on that. I’m going to investigate Sylvain’s room to see if there are any clues,” she stated, stepping towards the front door of the house. Ingrid affirmed the decision.

“I’m going with you,” Sylvain said, moving to follow Dorothea. She exchanged a glance with Ingrid, who looked nervously between the two of them.

“They’ll be fine, Ingrid,” Felix stepped in, much to Sylvain’s relief. “We don’t need all three of us to map out the woods, anyway.” He pointed to Sylvain. “Stay focused. Update us as soon as you find anything.” Dorothea was already walking away, and Sylvain moved to follow her, giving Felix a grateful thumbs up.

“You thinking what I’m thinking?” Sylvain asked as they went through the doorway.

“The camera,” Dorothea said. “You left it in record mode, didn’t you?”

“Not on purpose, but yes,” he replied. They stepped into the room, though nothing appeared out of the ordinary at first glance. Sure enough, the small camera was still sitting on the dresser, pointed towards the rest of the room. Sylvain picked it up, opening up a panel in the back that revealed a menu screen. “Yup, been recording for the last hour and a half. Could you grab the laptop from my bag, please?”

Dorothea retrieved the computer silently, sitting next to where he was set up on the bed. Sylvain wasted no time extracting the camera’s SD card and opening up his video editing software. “I know we had a rough conversation earlier,” she began, hesitating before continuing. “But these are extenuating circumstances, so… temporary truce?”

Sylvain smiled lightly, focused on the task in front of him. “Didn’t realize there was even a war,” he said. “So the recording starts here,” he mumbled, mostly to himself, and they both watched as their past selves stepped into the room, his face reddening as Dorothea’s dress came off. “Yeah, I’ll just skip through this…”

“So Flayn is affiliated with the Church of Seiros? And her father is a local politician?” Dorothea asked, averting her eyes from the screen.

“Seteth prefers the religious affiliation, but yes. The family has a long history of work with the church, and they’re also pretty loaded. Most of it goes back into the community in the form of volunteer programs and social welfare. Flayn is no exception, though it’s rare to see her at events without her father around. He’s a bit overprotective,” Sylvain explained.

“If I had to guess, I’d say Daddy doesn’t know about tonight’s little outing,” she mused.

“I suppose that makes Ignatz the bad boy in this situation. Never thought I’d see that,” Sylvain joked. His eyes widened as he paused the video just as a green-haired woman entered the frame. “Bam. There she is. So she made it in here, at least,” he said. Dorothea scooted in closer as they both watched. The timestamp read 00:02, approximately fifteen minutes after both of them had left. Flayn stepped into the room and found Sylvain’s duffle bag in the closet, presumably procuring the pills. Before she moved to leave something appeared to catch her attention by the open window, and she walked around the bed to investigate.

“I do not like where this is going…” Dorothea said.

“Yeah, I have a bad feeling” Sylvain chimed in, biting his lip nervously. “Wait, is that?”

“Oh, goddess.”

—

The minute Dorothea heard a girl had gone missing, the alarm bells rang sharply in her head. Learning about Flayn’s connection to the church practically solidified her hunches; this had to be what Edelgard’s intel had warned her about. She should have checked the guest list for potential targets. She should have been investigating more of the crowd. Her whole approach had been wrong, she’d been distracted. Yet by some miracle there was a lead, and that lead was sitting next to her on the bed.

They both watched Sylvain’s video in horror as a hooded figure climbed through the window, grabbing a very surprised Flayn and tugging her back toward the window. The petite girl put up more of a fight than Dorothea had expected, managing several times to evade capture before something appeared to stun her and she fell limp into her captor’s arms. The two disappeared quickly out the window and into the dark.

Sylvain paused the video and they sat in stunned silence for a moment, absorbing what they’d just seen. Dorothea felt her chest tighten up, and without thinking reached for Sylvain’s hand, squeezing the soft skin on his palm. “Ah, I’m sorry,” she said, moving her hand away. But Sylvain held on, silent understanding in his eyes.

Dorothea shook her head, slipping out of his grip anyway. “You need to call Ingrid and tell her what we found. They can at least prioritize the woods near this house until we find any more clues.” She picked up the laptop and pulled it closer to her, giving herself a quick crash course on the video software’s interface. “I’ll rewatch this and see if I can find anything else that might help us.”

“You call Ingrid. I can rewatch it. You shouldn’t have to…” Sylvain trailed off, his eyes sympathetic.

“It’s alright, really. Please let me do this.” She knew it wasn’t entirely rational, but Dorothea couldn’t help but feel partially responsible for Flayn’s abduction. If she’d just done a bit more research, maybe she could have prevented this. And now the events in Enbarr were possibly about to repeat themselves in Garreg Mach.

She recognized the assailant’s robes. Black with deep red trim and golden tassels. Surely there was something else she could glean from the video. Sylvain’s voice on the phone calmed her momentarily, allowing her to focus on the task at hand. She rewound the tape.

On the first replay, she surmised that Flayn’s captor had used a spell to knock her out; not particularly useful, as such a low-level cantrip would not have left enough magical energy behind to track. But it at least confirmed one hunch: that their enemy was more than some run-of-the-mill kidnapper. Not that she could really share this information with anybody.

Unfortunately, subsequent watches didn’t reveal any new helpful information, and Dorothea could feel the unease grow within her. It was possible her enemies even knew she was here. They could be watching her right now.

Sylvain finished on the phone with Ingrid and took a seat next to her again. “They’re getting a search party ready. Find anything?” Dorothea shook her head and Sylvain picked the computer up from her, entering some commands that zoomed in at various points of the video, slowed down other sections, and messed with the contrast in an attempt to provide more details. It was actually pretty impressive how good he was at playing detective.

She wanted to tell him everything. About what happened in Enbarr, about who she was and what she was doing, about the people she and Hubert and Edelgard were trying to stop. He was trying to get closer to her, and the wall of secrets was insurmountable. Still, there was the little voice in the back of her head saying not to ignore the significance of his evading the memory bind. He’d seen her demon form, of that she was certain. What did she really know about this man? She didn’t even realize until tonight that he understood more than he let on, that he had a deep pool of resources and knew how to use them.

“I got something,” Sylvain cheered, rousing Dorothea from her thoughts. She focused on the screen, watching a single highlighted segment where Flayn was struggling to escape the figure’s grasp. The girl delivered a well-aimed elbow jab to their wrist, knocking off a single gold tassel. Sylvain pointed at the adornment as it flew through the air and landed on the floor, rolling off to the side where it was then obscured. “Not sure how that could be useful, but—”

“Found it,” Dorothea said, having risen from the bed as soon as she saw the tassel fly. It was hiding behind one of the curtains along the floor. She smiled; she could perform a tracking spell with this. The only question after that was how she would explain her actions to Sylvain. She sat cross-legged on the bed, placing the tassel out in front of her. It would be relatively easy for her to cast the spell discreetly; she’d already begun doing it.

Sylvain continued to examine the video while she focused on her magic. As she closed her eyes she saw quick flashes of trees and darkness — good enough to confirm the woods, but she still needed more identifying markers. Where had they entered from? What was the path? Dorothea shook her head, placing a hand over the tassel. She’d have to tweak her approach: if she could channel a bit more energy into it, she could turn the object into a homing device, and have it lead her right to their target.

“I don’t think we’re going to get much more out of watching this, Sylvain,” Dorothea said as she rose from the bed, tassel in hand. “You should get in contact with Ingrid.”

She felt Sylvain’s hand gently tugging her arm as she made her way to the door. “Wait, where are you going?” Dorothea swallowed a groan. Of course he would want to know that. There was an abductor on the loose and possibly more accomplices they weren’t yet aware of. It only made sense that her secret-keeping would come back to bite her in the ass. Maybe it was time for honesty.

“To the woods to find Flayn,” she explained, slipping away and down the hall. Unsurprisingly, footsteps followed quickly behind her.

“Alone? That’s a terrible idea,” Sylvain called after her as she put on her shoes. She pressed on, heading out the front door and pausing, consulting the tassel in her hands for guidance. By the time she’d settled on a direction he’d caught up to her. “Dorothea, seriously. It’s dangerous.” She remained silent and continued. “At least let me go with you.”

He let out a quick gasp as she pivoted back toward him suddenly, her expression serious. “I need you to trust me, Sylvain. There are a lot of things I can’t tell you right now, but I know what I’m doing. I can find her.” Her eyes were pleading with his now as she struggled to keep her composure, hands gripping the fabric of her dress anxiously. She saw hurt in his gaze but also a glimmer of understanding. All things considered, she was really moved by the way he wanted to protect her, even if the gesture was ultimately useless. She lowered her eyes, finally settling on acceptance. “If you’re going to follow me, I can’t stop you. Just keep a safe distance.” When Sylvain opened his mouth to speak she raised her finger in warning. “And stay silent.”

With the ground rules set, Dorothea finally made for the entrance to the woods, acutely aware of Sylvain tailing her about ten paces behind. The moon was near full and trickled silver light through the trees, the only illumination available as the soft glow of the party faded out behind them. Dorothea blinked rapidly several times, her pupils dilating and contracting as her night vision kicked in. The path was narrow and winding with difficult footing; the only comfort she had was the assumption that her target would have been thoroughly slowed down by the trees, especially with an unconscious human in tow.

As she rounded another bend she stopped, noting a clearing in the distance. A thick wave of magical energy overcame her, no doubt sourced from dead ahead. Her steps grew ever more cautious, and the soft crunch of leaves beneath her feet alerted her to how eerily silent it had become. A great oak tree rose up at the edge of the clearing, perfect for a momentary vantage point. Dorothea crouched down as best she could, peeking around the trunk.

It appeared to be the remains of an old building, as the earth gave way to dark worn stone and concrete, and several pieces of old wall still stood along the outskirts, blending into the trees. Her eyes quickly focused on the far end, where she could make out white shapes and writing in the rock — and what looked like a collapsed person. She was a bit too far away to make out who it was, but something about the circle and other symbols felt strangely familiar.

“Looks like somebody’s been using our old hideout for spooky business,” a low voice observed from behind Dorothea. She turned her head angrily.

“Sylvain, I told you to keep your distance,” she whispered, gaze moving back to the scene in front of them. “That might be Flayn, but she’s still a bit far away,” she added, motioning ahead.

“I can’t see shit,” Sylvain said, pulling something from his pocket. He’d brought the camera with him. “This has a night vision mode.” Dorothea scowled in disbelief, unsure if she wanted to know why he had a tiny camera with low-light capturing capability. She waved the air dismissively, placing a finger on Sylvain’s lips.

“No more talking. I’m going over to investigate. You stay here,” she commanded firmly. Sylvain gave her a defeated look, but nodded in understanding. “And text Ingrid. If you recognize this place, they should know how to get here, right?” More furious nods. Dorothea stood slowly, hoping she could deal with this whole situation before their back-up arrived. Based on her estimates, it had taken them approximately twenty minutes to get out here.

She moved into the clearing, the feel of magic swirling even more strongly around her now. Her steps met with the concrete with a cool tap, but nothing else suspicious appeared to be happening. As she crossed to the other side of the clearing, she began to understand more. It was most certainly a woman collapsed on the ground, and she recognized the green hair from the video. “Flayn?” she called out weakly, though the other woman appeared to be completely out.

The markings on the ground became more apparent as well. They were clearly recent, likely drawn with chalk, and upon closer inspection she saw that a large set of concentric circles encompassed the area. Dorothea’s stomach dropped as she saw the set of crossing lines forming a pentagram, with Flayn in the dead center. She’d definitely seen this magic circle before. In Enbarr. Which meant she needed to act fast. The continued silence and absence of Flayn’s attacker only made her more nervous, and it occurred to her that she might already be too late.

“Flayn!” she yelled, breaking into a run as she breached the circle, dropping to her knees by the girl’s side. She released a sigh of relief upon confirming that Flayn was still breathing, holding up her limp body and shaking her shoulders lightly. “Flayn, please wake up,” Dorothea pleaded, to no avail. After a quick moment she exhaled decisively, shifting Flayn’s weight onto her shoulders and beginning to stand. “Alright, I’m getting you out of here.”

“I wouldn’t try to leave if I were you,” a deep, distorted voice cut through the trees. Dorothea turned frantically to try and locate the source, but they were clearly using a spell to project it everywhere at once. The mystery quickly became the least of her worries as she felt a heavy force shoot through her body, forcing her back onto her knees as Flayn rolled off her. She grunted as she tried to push herself back up, but it felt as though gravity had doubled and her body was being torn apart from the inside.

Her head was beginning to ache when disembodied laughter began to echo around them. “For someone who clearly understands magic, you’re not the best at identifying a trapping spell.” Dorothea struggled to crawl forward, reaching towards Flayn while the taunting continued. “And you are just brimming with it, aren’t you? What’s underneath that disguise, I wonder?”

She muttered an oath as her skin began to break out in goosebumps, a momentary burning sensation radiating across her limbs. A quick sweep of her tongue across her teeth confirmed what she’d already expected: her glamor had been forcibly broken. Her wings flapped uselessly behind her, already growing sore as they fought against their magical bindings. She finally collapsed belly down on the stone, too exhausted to continue fighting back. It was time to use her brain.

The chalk symbol was glowing around her, illuminating the immediate area but making it incredibly difficult to see anything beyond the ten feet or so of its radius. Flayn’s chest continued to move up and down, though she showed no signs of waking — probably for the best at the moment.

First things first: she needed to dispel the magic circle, and fast. Normally a simple task, but a quick self-assessment proved that her own casting ability was sealed; she could feel the untapped energy coursing through her, but it was stopped tight like a wine bottle. How utterly useless, she thought, wincing as another ripple of pain seared through her.

So her own internal magic was out. That left her opponent's own power, the annoying stuff that was currently making life a nightmare. If there was one thing Dorothea knew how to do, it was channel someone else's energy. If she could redirect the spell, it was possible to overload the circle, rendering it useless. It was a trick she'd never actually attempted, but it was her best bet.

She flattened herself on the ground and kept still, fingertips pressing softly into the stone. With her eyes closed she could better feel the flow of power beneath her, its push and pull. It filled her lungs and on an exhale she focused on moving it, like she would if it were coming from a person. There was some give, but she needed to be careful.

The sound of footsteps tempted her attention, and she craned her neck as best she could to see the hooded figure, familiar tassels shimmering in the moonlight. “I’m all done with the girl, but I figured this was a good opportunity to lure out any unwanted meddlers.” It was the same altered voice from earlier. “But a demon, seriously? You’re a long way from Enbarr, sweetie. I’m sure somebody is looking for you,” he continued, pacing around out of her eyesight.

Dorothea huffed angrily, the fingers on her left hand growing numb as she struggled to unweave the mystery man’s net. Her legs jerked, a little bit looser. She just needed more time and an opening. Luckily, a silver tongue didn’t require any magic to operate. “Tons of people are. I’m famous,” she said, the accompanying laugh coming out more strained than intended. But the footsteps were moving back toward her, as anticipated. He tilted his head curiously, sauntering closer and leaning down to get a better look. His face was obscured by a mask in addition to the hood. In fact, there wasn’t enough evidence to know he was even a man.

“Fancy that, you are,” they observed. “Dorothy Arnold or something, right? I saw one of your shows once.” There was a short pause, as if they were considering something. “I would take a picture, if I cared.”

“Yeah, this isn’t a scheduled meet-and-greet anyway,” Dorothea said, smiling as she finished winding up her counter-spell. The target was a bit further away than she'd hoped, but it would have to do. “I can still give you a fitting souvenir, though!”

In a single movement she thumped the ground with her left hand, the illuminated chalk turning into an erratic frenzy of flickering light as the trap broke apart and Dorothea sprung to her feet, tapping into her now-freed strength as she lunged at them. Her right hand shot forward like a blade, slicing through cloth and flesh as she felt blood splatter lightly onto her fingertips. Not a fatal wound, but she’d managed to leave their left arm a mess of torn robes, revealing a nasty gash from forearm to bicep.

Without wasting a second her left hand moved to form a barrier, a burst of air pushing the figure back further. “You fucking bitch!” they yelled, clutching the wound as their voice crackled. Dorothea waved off the insult, holding the force field up as she stepped over Flayn protectively.

“Tell whoever you’re working for to stay the hell out of Garreg Mach,” she commanded, though it was met by a dismissive tongue click.

“We don’t take suggestions,” they growled. There was another pause as their gaze focused on something behind her. “Like I said, I got what I came here for already. I’m not looking to be part of someone’s next viral video.”

“What?” Dorothea breathed, but before she could react further the figure was already gone, seemingly disappearing into thin air. She kept the field up as a precaution and turned around tentatively, keeping Flayn in her peripheral vision. Her gaze moved to the edge of the clearing and a partially-hidden figure holding a very familiar object. “Oh, shit,” she mumbled to herself, the rest of the world coming back into focus.

Or at least it began to, but as the events of the past few minutes began to sink in she found her breath growing ragged, the edges of her sight blurring. She was vaguely aware of dropping to the ground, her hand resting lightly on Flayn’s back. Frantic footsteps echoed in the distance. They grew louder and louder, finally stopping as firm hands wrapped around her shoulders.

“Thea. Hey, Thea.”

Sylvain’s voice dragged her back to consciousness and she pushed her palms weakly against his arms, trying to sit up straight. “I’m alright,” she said, massaging her temples as a headache began to set in. She wasn’t completely drained, but expending so much energy so quickly had taken a toll on her; like the sensation of standing up too quickly, but amplified.

She slouched forward and Sylvain’s face moved into frame, his expression a mix of concern and awe. “You look… ethereal,” he whispered, brushing the hair from her face as his other hand hovered around her hairline.

Her glamor. She’d forgotten to put it back up. Not that it mattered, after what he’d just witnessed. “Yeah,” she sighed. “This is me.” And this is it, she thought, suddenly terrified to look him in the eye. Afraid of the disappointment she might see. She gulped hard, knowing it was best to get the pain over with quickly.

But there was no anger, no disgust, not even any pity. Sylvain watched her with a sense of wonder and relief, a soft smile that radiated warmth into the cold night air. Dorothea wasn’t ready for that compassion, and the tears poured out of her before she had the chance to swallow them back up. Her forehead leaned into his chest, her choked-back sobs vibrating against him as she clung tightly to his shirt. “Hey, hey, it’s alright,” Sylvain cooed. “I’m right here.”

She inhaled weakly, unable to let go. “You’re… you’re not mad?”

Fingers ran softly through her hair and down her back. “Only at the psycho who did all this,” he said sternly. “I’m just glad you and Flayn are both safe.” Dorothea felt a tickling sensation where Sylvain touched her, and she realized his fingertips occasionally brushed the base of her wings. Nobody had ever done that before; she’d have to remember that for later.

Except there would be no later, she thought, breaking away from Sylvain suddenly. “Wait. This is insane.” Her eyes met his, watching the confusion return to his face. “You’re acting way too calm about this.”

He furrowed his brow at her. “I'm allowed to be as calm as I want, thank you very much,” he said. His hands motioned vaguely to her. “And I’ve seen this before, if that’s what you’re talking about.”

Dorothea took a deep breath, closing her eyes. She raised her hand up and moved it slowly down, palm facing her body as she concentrated on reinstating her glamor spell. When she looked back at Sylvain he was wearing the look of fascination she’d expected. “You aren’t going to see it again,” she said, placing her hands on his shoulders and locking eyes with him. “I’m going to make you forget this.”

Sylvain shrugged out of her grip, looking away. “You can’t be serious. You—” he stopped himself, eyes growing wide with worry. “Wait, do you want to break up with me?”

The hurt in his voice made the tears well up again, but she fought them back. “Of course I don’t want to, but—”

Sylvain’s fingers tapped her lips, stopping her mid-sentence. “So don’t.”

She shook her head, not understanding. Sylvain only grinned with determination, furthering her bewilderment. “I don’t fully know what’s going on here, or with you.” He raised a finger in warning when she moved to interrupt him. “It might not be easy and perfect, Dorothea, but I can’t let that get in the way of how I feel about you. And I’m hoping that maybe you feel similarly enough to trust me and work through this.”

There was a long pause as she let his words sink in. After she failed to respond he chuckled nervously, scratching the back of his head. “Alright, yeah, that was pretty cheesy of me to say, wasn’t it? Maybe—”

“No,” Dorothea said, her mouth moving before she could fully think through what she was saying. “You’re right.” What was she doing?! “I… thank you.” She’d officially given up on words, moving in to embrace him again. “Really, Sylvain. Thank you.”

He laughed, his arms holding her tight. “Anytime,” he whispered. They stayed together for a moment before releasing, eyes lingering on each other. Instinctively, inevitably their faces drifted close again, lips meeting in a soft, clean kiss. Dorothea felt a tickle of magical energy dance across her skin.

She’d barely noticed their parting again when Sylvain began speaking. “Ingrid should be here any minute now,” he explained, his attention directed at Flayn. Without his support she felt herself wobble, his words suddenly sounding far away. “Hey, Dorothea, are you alright? Stay with me!” Her body fell sideways, caught by strong, reassuring hands. Knowing he was there relaxed her enough to let her eyelids droop down and finally accept sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to point out that when I refer to Sylvain as a 'stoned idiot', I mean it in the most affectionate way possible. After all, I would gladly share a joint with him myself.


	6. Where Do We Go From Here?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the aftermath of their wild evening, Dorothea and Sylvain are confronted with the future implications of their relationship.

Dorothea stirred three times in the night.

The first time she was not yet in a bed. She hazily recalled the sensation of rocking, of being carried, and the sound of multiple sets of footsteps waking her. Their figures and faces were darkened, mottled by the jagged shadows of tree branches in moonlight. Voices spoke in hushed, concerned tones around her, sounding further away than they should have. But one voice, just above her, came out clear.

“Hey, sleepyhead,” Sylvain whispered, shifting her weight in his arms. “We’re almost home.”

“I can walk,” she said, before immediately drifting back into slumber.

The second and third times she did not remember much, save for a vague liminal awareness that she had not slept restfully. There were dreams, ones that dissipated as soon as she bubbled to the surface of consciousness, leaving her only with the feeling of having dreamt. On one of the occasions her arm had grown numb, the pins and needles still shuddering across her skin when she finally fell into uninterrupted sleep.

Sylvain awoke to soft daylight and empty arms, eyes fluttering open to see Dorothea rolled to the far side of the bed, sheets and blankets in disarray. One exposed leg was twitching back and forth, and as he propped himself up on an elbow and crawled closer he saw that her whole body was shaking. She was mumbling something incoherent, her voice strained.

He placed a hand tentatively on her shoulder, moving his palm slowly along her upper arm to still her shivering. Her shallow breaths began to lengthen and Sylvain could make out some of the words now. “Can’t… I can’t stay here…” she whined, her throat creaking like it was holding back a dam of tears. “El… Tell him… want to be found…” The words turned into a squeak, prompting him to move up behind her and wrap his arms around her waist, nuzzling the back of her neck.

“Sssh,” he breathed, lips brushing her skin. Dorothea grew silent and still, her body relaxing. But it was a short-lived calm, as a moment later she let out a low moan and tensed again, squirming in his embrace. Sylvain’s concern grew. “Dorothea?”

She jerked awake, her breath hitching as she rolled in his direction, landing on her back. Her eyes were wide and puffy, her face shiny with tears as she became more aware of her surroundings. “Sylvain,” she said, one hand finding his while she pressed the heel of the other to her cheeks. He intertwined their fingers reassuringly, shifting so his face was level with hers. “What happened?” she asked, head tilting toward him.

“You were talking in your sleep,” he explained. “It sounded like you had a nightmare.”

There was a pause as her chest slowed to a steady rhythm. “Oh,” she said, squeezing his hand tighter. “What did I say?”

Sylvain paraphrased the words as best he could, analyzing them as they rolled off his lips. Dorothea watched him carefully as he spoke, her eyes fixed on one of his cheek dimples while her mind began to travel somewhere else. She turned away when he finished, pondering the ceiling. When Dorothea was silent he asked: “Who is ‘him’?”

Her breath was almost too calm, as though she were making a concerted effort to maintain tranquility. Still not meeting his gaze, her hand traveled to Sylvain’s knee, bare and sticking out from the sheets, her nails swirling across the surface of his skin. Without warning she flipped to her stomach, leaning against Sylvain’s chest and planting a kiss on his lips. “No one,” she replied, and kissed him again.

He relaxed beneath her, feeling lightheaded and much like he was still in a dream himself. When Dorothea went up for air she pushed to a seat, eyes scanning the room. “Where are we?”

It was larger than where they’d been in the guesthouse, a difference emphasized by its emptiness. The dark hardwood was half covered in an intricate Almyran style rug, its aquamarine patterning matching the faded blue color of the walls. The furniture matched the floor, most notably a large mahogany bookshelf full of thick-looking tomes and various knick-knacks. Mounted above an antique writing desk was an ornamental shield crafted from shimmering metal, a red gem embedded in its center.

In contrast to the various aged pieces on display, a sleek silver digital clock read 10:45 AM. The house was quieter than expected, and she imagined most of the guests who'd crashed were still sleeping off hangovers.

“The master bedroom in the main house,” Sylvain explained as Dorothea noticed a door on one end leading to what looked like a massive bathroom. “Felix was supposed to stay here, but he insisted we keep out of the guesthouse after what happened. He crashed on the living room couch.”

“How kind of him,” Dorothea said, giving the mattress a soft pat and trying to imagine Felix actually enjoying such a lavish suite. She flashed Sylvain a grin as her fingers traced circles on the bed sheet. They traveled along his shin and upward as she continued: “I take it he would be upset if we used this bed for anything more than sleeping, then?”

Sylvain cradled the back of his head in his hands as Dorothea’s touch slipped under the hem of his soft cotton shirt, lingering along the waistband of his boxers. She moved in closer, her body hovering above his and raising a wave of goosebumps across his skin. “Someone is surprisingly eager,” he said in a low voice tinged with genuine bewilderment.

She captured his gaze with her own, green eyes shimmering with a curious allure. A sharp sigh escaped her lips. It turned into a sardonic laugh as her forehead plopped down onto his shoulder. “I’m going to need to explain a few things.”

—

It was surreal, explaining to Sylvain what was, by now, second nature to her. The fact that she was sharing it at all was even stranger. And the way he acted like it was normal was strangest. Like she was musing about song-writing or her time in the opera, and not the fact that she literally fed off his emotional energy.

“So you kind of are like a vampire,” he considered, his head rolling back against the headboard. Dorothea sat between his legs, her own back pressed to his chest while he played with her curls. She shook her head at his statement.

“I am not,” she said, craning her neck back, trying to frown at him. She settled for reaching up with her fingers, one hand caressing his stubbled cheeks while the other found his hair. It felt like sparks where she touched him. “I don’t need magic to survive. It’s just nice to have.” She dropped one of her hands and held it palm up in front of them, rotating her wrist several times. “Because I can do things like this,” she continued, tiny lines of blue electricity jumping across her skin.

Sylvain watched the lightning excitedly, but she dissipated it when she felt his arms squeeze tighter around her waist, his head bowing down to rest against her crown. Dorothea inhaled deeply, closing her eyes. Her body softened, but her stray thoughts kept her from fully relaxing. “You must have a lot of questions, still,” she said.

“Mmm,” Sylvain mumbled into her hair. “I think my brain has enough to deal with right now,” he said. “Yours too.”

Dorothea rolled her head to the side, glad he couldn’t see her pensive expression. “I really shouldn’t be telling you all this. I should be making you forget it, even.” Her hands rested on his, fingers tapping against his skin nervously.

“You mean like you did the night we met?” he asked.

Her fidgeting stopped. “You’ve figured that out, then,” she observed flatly.

“And that it didn’t work the next time you tried it,” he added.

She frowned. That was the biggest, most unexpected mystery, one she was willfully ignoring. Last night’s attack was already enough on her plate. Sylvain’s sudden magical immunity would require more resources to solve. “I might figure out a way around it,” she finally said. It was a bold bluff, one that Sylvain seemed doubtful of.

“I don’t understand what the problem is with me knowing,” he said. “I think it’s amazing what you can do, Dorothea. And your secret’s safe with me.”

She scoffed skeptically. “I admire the sentiment, but I’m not sure how well it’ll actually work in practice.” It was difficult for her to not see him accidentally spilling the beans to his best friends — especially Ingrid and Felix. “It’s not that simple. If it were, more people would know. But last I checked, most of the world is perfectly at home believing magic only exists in fairy tales.” She paused, thinking back to the mystery mage, the way their simple spell had so nearly defeated her. “And it’s for the best that they do,” she added.

Sylvain remained quiet, hands in her hair again. “Agree to disagree, then,” he muttered, his voice tinged with disappointment. His grip on her waist loosened. “The important thing is that I know, and you don’t have to hide it from me anymore,” he said, and she became acutely aware of his fingers creeping over her hip bone and down her inner thigh.

“Yeah,” she said softly, her stomach filling with butterflies as he moved under her skirt. "Sylvain—" her breath hitched as he slipped into her underwear, finding the exact spot and rhythm to tease her. He was getting dangerously good at that, and way too quickly.

His breath was hot in her ear, his free hand moving to cup her breast. "Let's focus on something that _is_ simple," he said. Dorothea bucked against his groin, her voice suddenly harsh.

"Simple? I can't tell if you're insulting me," she growled, her face flushing with excitement. Sylvain was still circling her clit slowly, taking his time to build her up. But she could see the peak.

He kissed her neck and moved up, nibbling her earlobe before whispering: "I would never insult you." His voice puttered into a low purr. He dragged his hand up from her chest, holding her jaw delicately in his hand. A finger brushed over her lower lip. "I'm pretty sure if I did, you could bite my head off."

With a flick of her tongue Dorothea sucked his finger into her mouth. Sylvain continued his work on her clit, slipping a digit inside her and teasing her walls. "What's stopping me from doing that right now?" she asked, moaning softly as he quickened his pace.

He let her have several more moans before slowing again. "The fact that you still want to come, I hope," he said. She could feel him shrug and click his tongue. "After that it's just an exercise in trust."

Dorothea's laugh bloomed into a gasp, prompting Sylvain to cup his hand lightly over her mouth. "Not so fast," he warned. "I want to see you hold it a bit longer." She suppressed another gasp. "And when you are ready to let it go, maybe we can try not to alert the whole house."

She groaned, grinding into his hand as she felt herself approach climax. "Sylvain," she breathed, her voice soft. He smirked against her ear. She quietly called his name again, drawing it out as her body shuddered into an orgasm.

They were left softly panting, Dorothea relishing the sound of Sylvain's deep breaths behind her. Her knees fell against each other as he withdrew his hand, pulling her close again as his forehead rested on her shoulder. She held one of his hands gently in her own, pressing into the soft flesh of his palm with the pads of her thumb before lifting it to her lips. She carefully kissed each knuckle. The hand still holding her waist wrapped tighter.

"Thank you," she whispered, her head leaning against his. After a few moments basking in the afterglow she shifted forward, her palm moving to the bulge in his pants as she turned around. "Your turn," she said, matter-of-factly.

Sylvain gripped her wrist lightly, shaking his head. "It's alright," he said. Matter-of-factly.

Dorothea frowned, crawling closer toward him and tilting his chin up with her fingertips. "But I want to return the favor," she sang, her other hand cradling his cheek. Sylvain let her close the distance and pulled her into a kiss, swallowing slowly as they parted.

"Save it for another time," he said, patting the spot next to him. "When we're not in Felix's bed," he added. Dorothea shrugged in acceptance, sliding next to him and snuggling his shoulder. With a sigh he wrapped an arm around her. "Think of this as an apology for everything you had to deal with last night. And a thank you for handling the situation like a badass."

Her eyes scanned the room once more, noticing from the clock that it was nearly noon. When she focused her hearing she could pick up distant footsteps, clinking glass and hushed voices. "I should find Caspar," she said, but scooted closer to Sylvain. His gaze was focused forward, pensively, fingers tapping against her upper arm.

“Yeah, Ingrid no doubt wants me to help clean up,” he muttered. Dorothea watched him as he stared into space, admiring the way the sunlight glowed on his cheeks. She reached a hand out, batting his bangs out of his eyes. He caught her gaze with a smirk. “Alright,” he sighed. “Let’s go.” Dorothea moved first, swinging her legs off the bed and taking Sylvain’s arm as he slowly peeled himself away from the pillows.

Her hand slipped instinctively into his as they padded down the hall, the commotion from downstairs growing louder as they reached a wide staircase leading down into the main hall. A large chandelier hung from the ceiling, scattering light across their figures as they descended.

They passed several members of the previous night’s catering staff as they followed the noise to the kitchen, where Ingrid was absorbed in directing the cleanup effort. Felix stepped in from the other side of the room, a box full of dishware in his arms. He was the first to notice their presence, eyes resting briefly on their faces before scanning down the rest of them, his expression enigmatic. Sylvain waved, but Felix was making a beeline for Ingrid.

“There you are,” a loud voice called from behind. Dorothea broke from Sylvain to turn around, meeting with a perky, messy-haired Caspar. She greeted him with a quick hug. “Hope you slept well after your late-night stroll in the woods,” he said. His eyes searched hers for a moment and she beamed at him reassuringly.

She felt Sylvain’s hand on the small of her back as he ushered them from the kitchen. “Let’s go out front,” he whispered. “Before Ingrid notices we have our hands free.”

Dorothea rolled her eyes as they walked back, her bare feet cool on the marble tile. “I’m pretty sure that’s only an issue for you.”

Sylvain ignored her comment as they stepped through the front door, taking in a deep inhale of warming late-morning air. The scent of flowers from the garden filled their lungs. Dorothea shielded her eyes from the full force of the sun, suddenly feeling naked in her smudged makeup, uncombed hair and last night’s dress. Caspar was scanning the yard, moving in the direction of the valet. “Should I get the car ready? Linhardt is probably wondering where I am right now,” he said, pulling out his phone.

“Yeah, we should get going,” Dorothea replied, exchanging a glance with Sylvain. “Are you sure you don’t want help?”

He ran a hand quickly through his hair and shook his head, looking out onto the garden. "We've got it handled. I have a busy afternoon ahead of me," he said. Then, turning to her with a smile: "I might be more available in the evening, though." She could practically hear him resisting the urge to wink.

Caspar gave them both a thumbs-up, darting off to locate their ride. Sylvain wrapped an arm around Dorothea's waist. "Hey," he said, his voice low and monotone. "I would understand if you wanted to rethink this."

Dorothea felt her stomach drop. "What?" The question came out more hurt than she'd intended.

"I'm not saying I want you to," Sylvain swooped in. "But you probably have a point about it not being that simple."

She stared dumbly ahead, processing. The same feeling had overcome her last night, when she'd been so adamant about breaking it off, about not dragging a bystander into her muddy business. A tightness in her chest that craved normalcy. Craved the person who might be able to give that to her. Her arm looped tighter around Sylvain. "I suppose I should make sure I've considered all the angles," she said.

"Right," Sylvain agreed. "I want you to make a fully thought out decision." He hesitated before continuing. "Even if that decision doesn't involve me."

She nodded and turned to embrace him, letting the air linger around them. "I'll have an answer by tonight," she finally mumbled into his chest.

Sylvain gave her one last quick squeeze before releasing her. "Alright, let's go grab your stuff."

—

The ride back to the city was fairly uneventful; mostly Dorothea let Caspar regale her with stories from his night while she watched the highway. The suburbs and strip malls she remembered from the drive over zipped past, a surreal sight after their short run-in with luxury.

“And did you know there was a sauna _and_ a steam room?” Caspar cooed. “My muscles were in absolute heaven. Maybe I should shell out the cash for one of those fancy gym memberships.” Dorothea smiled as she recalled their little hot tub party. “I bet Felix has a personal trainer and everything. I wonder if he’d recommend me one.”

“I mean, if Felix was going to use his trust fund money on something, I’m sure it would be that,” she mused, eyes still directed out the window. “You ever think of how crazy it is that we keep ending up friends with these rich kids? Their concept of reality must be so different from ours.”

Caspar nudged her playfully. “That’s our Dorothea, always bringing the hammer down on the ruling class,” he said. She turned to see him smiling while he watched the road. “I mean, my dad has the whole ‘esteemed military family’ thing going on, so I’m not sure I’m one to talk about that,” he added.

“Look, your family is nowhere near Fraldarius levels of wealth,” she said.

“Pretty sure your new boyfriend comes close,” Caspar teased, and she realized he’d been waiting for the perfect opening to bring up the subject. As if reading her mind he continued: “What, you thought I was just going to let that lovely little development pass by without comment?”

Dorothea groaned, looking down at her hands. “At least he’s more down to earth than some folks. Bit of an overactive imagination, though.”

“You like him.”

For once she chose not to argue. “I do.”

A bizarre cross between a laugh and an affectionate whine escaped Caspar’s lips. “Thea, I’m really happy for you right now,” he said, genuinely. “What’s the catch?”

Dorothea sighed, noticing that they were three exits away from Caspar’s apartment. “There are two, but you already know the first one. I’ll tell you the second when we’re back at your place,” she said. Her expression had turned serious, and Caspar grew quiet. When he didn’t respond for several seconds she took the opportunity to ask: “What happened with Flayn last night, by the way?”

Caspar massaged his temple, trying to access his drunken memory. “Weirdest thing. She came to, a bit after you passed out, when Ingrid and the search party found you all in the woods. Said she’d just gone on a walk and gotten lost. That the whole thing had gotten blown out of proportion.” He paused, expecting a response, but Dorothea was still processing the facts. “After that, Sylvain said you just passed out from all the drinking and impromptu hiking.”

Good at thinking on his feet, Dorothea thought. That tracked. But several other points didn’t. “There was really nothing else?”

“Supposedly Flayn got picked up right after that. I think maybe her dad caught on to the fact that she’d snuck out and sent some of the family bodyguards to bring her home.” Caspar shrugged. “I’d say it was a bit over the top but, well, it seems he was right to be concerned. Considering.”

She nodded, making a mental note to properly introduce herself to Flayn at some point. “I didn’t realize the church here was so… serious.” Edelgard always had a sour look on her face when the topic of religion was brought up, and Dorothea was beginning to think it was more than just a casual opposition.

The car cleared a hill and the familiar scenery of Caspar and Linhardt’s neighborhood came into view. “ _That_ is a conversation for another day,” Caspar said as they passed Garreg Mach’s Med School Library and took the next turn to its student housing. They reached the driveway to Linhardt’s townhouse shortly after. Caspar cranked the vehicle into park and turned to Dorothea excitedly. “Let’s stay focused on your second catch.”

He jogged out of the car and swung open the front door, revealing a darkened foyer and living room, though Dorothea knew better than to assume that meant Linhardt wasn’t around. She spotted the dull light of a laptop screen from the couch as Caspar announced their presence: “We’re home, babe! Don’t be naked!” The statement was met with a low groan and light tapping on a keyboard.

Linhardt was laid out on the couch in emerald green lounge pants and a matching robe, his head resting on a cushion that had been propped against the couch arm, where a half-full mug was precariously perched. His laptop rested on his stomach. “Honestly, Lin, how many times do I have to tell you? Bright screen, dark room. Bad for the eyes,” Caspar chided, barely glancing at his boyfriend as he stepped to the window and pulled the curtains open dramatically. Linhardt moaned, half-heartedly shielding his eyes as Caspar stood proudly in the sunlight.

Dorothea strode into the room, standing over Linhardt’s head and smiling at him sympathetically. “Hey, Lin. Sorry for the disturbance,” she said.

He gave her a sleepy wave, pushing himself up to a seat and closing the computer. “Oh, hello, Dorothea,” he said nonchalantly. “Good to see you. Caspar told me what happened last night, but I’m assuming you have more details to share.”

Straight to the point, as usual. She nodded, rubbing her bare shoulders. “Yeah, but I think I could use a shower first.”

Caspar returned from the window and plopped down next to Linhardt. “And food! I haven’t eaten yet.” He pulled out his phone. “I think Raph’s place does delivery now.” As he began looking up the menu, Dorothea gave him an ‘order me whatever’ wave and made for the bathroom.

Linhardt turned to his boyfriend, pointing to the door as it closed. “You’re next.”

—

As Caspar silently (or rather, wordlessly) chowed down on sandwich number two, Dorothea had pulled Linhardt’s loose bun out and begun combing through his hair, marveling (as she often did) at how he managed to keep it so perfectly smooth and shiny. She’d stolen a pair of his pajamas, relishing the feel of Adrestian silk against her refreshed skin. It was easy to forget, by the size of the apartment and Linhardt’s relatively modest way of living, but moments like these reminded her that he came from money.

“It’s been ages since we did this,” she said as she began separating his locks, preparing to braid them. “We should plan a spa day soon. Maybe a sleepover.”

Linhardt shrugged, his attention absorbed by the bioinformatics journal sitting open in his lap. “That would be nice,” he agreed, a hint of wistfulness in his voice. The past few months he’d been particularly busy in the research lab, and when he wasn’t involved in official work he was hacking away on his computer. She was glad that he at least had someone to lean on — as much as Linhardt insisted it was the other way around, she knew it was Caspar who kept him grounded.

Caspar, seated on the floor in front of them, craned his neck upwards. “Ooh, and talk about cute boys? Dorothea can start,” he teased. She responded by knocking the back of his head lightly with her foot. "Or we can skip straight to business," he continued. "And coincidentally, the question there is the same: how are things with Sylvain?"

"He knows," Dorothea blurted out, focusing her nervous energy into plaiting Lin's hair. She couldn't drag it out any longer.

"Knows what, exactly?" Linhardt asked. He was turned away from her but she knew the exact curious expression he had on his face. "Caspar, computer," he said, motioning vaguely with his hands. Caspar moved to grab the machine sitting on their coffee table, but was stopped by the sound of Lin clicking his tongue. "The other computer," he elaborated.

"Right," Caspar muttered, rising from the floor and walking to the bedroom.

Dorothea continued. "He knows what I am. He's seen me use magic. Twice now." When Linhardt remained quiet she went on: “My memory bind didn’t work.”

“He’s a Gautier. We knew this was a possibility,” Linhardt replied as Caspar came back into the room, a hefty-looking black laptop plastered with stickers in his hands. He passed it to Linhardt, who immediately opened it up, eyes focused on the screen.

“Isn’t that what the ritual at Edelgard’s party was for? To find that out and plan accordingly?” Dorothea racked her brain, trying to remember the conversation they’d had before that night nearly a month ago. All these magical rules were new to her, which was why she had Lin around as her expert. Keeping track of her spells and understanding how her own powers worked was already plenty to remember. The only significant thing she recalled from that night was Linhardt giving her the go-ahead.

“Yes. And all signs pointed to him not being receptive, so I’m going to have to investigate that more,” he said, his fingers clacking on the keyboard. “Ugh, these Faerghus families are so secretive, it’s going to be a pain to dig up more information on this,” he mumbled to himself. “But here, I think now’s as good a time as any to give you a refresher.” He turned toward her, letting his half-braided hair fall aside as he directed Dorothea’s eyes to the screen.

It was an image she’d seen before, a photograph of an ancient-looking tapestry. A serene winged woman with her arms spread wide, surrounded by a frame of symbols. Each one a crest corresponding to a magical bloodline, she thought to herself. Linhardt pointed to one of the crests in the lower left of the circle. “That’s your guy,” he said. “From what I’ve read, Gautier mages historically specialized in protective magic and counter-spells, hence their general resistance to... certain manipulations.”

Dorothea nodded along. “Only if they’re receptive, though. And we concluded Sylvain isn’t.”

“There must be ways to throw off the test,” Linhardt said. “Leave figuring that out to me.”

Caspar chimed in. “What does this mean for the job, though?”

“We need to call it off,” Dorothea said. “It’s compromised.”

Linhardt waved his hands and shook his head. “Not so fast. He only knows that Dorothea can use magic, right? And that you’re…” he trailed off, looking at her with concern.

“It’s alright, Lin. You can say it. I’m a demon,” she said. The word echoed in her head. Demon. That’s what the intruder from last night had called her, too. She anticipated Linhardt’s next statement. “He technically doesn’t know that I’m being paid to date him, feed off his energy and then break his heart, if that’s what you’re getting at.” That was difficult for her to say out loud, too. She’d almost forgotten about her job completely at this point. “Well, I explained the energy feeding part.” Which he had been surprisingly fine with, she thought. Intrigued, even.

“I see no reason why we can’t continue as planned, then,” Linhardt concluded, his interest now diverted to whatever he was researching on the computer. Dorothea squirmed in her seat, a sense of uncertainty she couldn’t articulate picking at the back of her mind. Caspar seemed to pick up on her expression and shook his head.

“You’re missing the point, Lin,” he said, and looked Dorothea in the eye. “Are you really going to be able to continue this with a clear conscience?”

She took a deep breath. This was bound to happen eventually. Most of her targets were short engagements, and always deserving. Men who cheated, harassed co-workers, the occasional stalker. The type of men she’d encountered many times in the past, enough so that she’d wanted to do something about it. And with her newfound powers, and Linhardt and Caspar’s help, she finally could.

But it wasn’t always so clear-cut, she was discovering. Not that Sylvain wasn’t deserving of being knocked down a peg; while not at harassment or stalker levels, he was still a known serial cheater and heart-breaker. She thought it would be easy to have some fun with him, get some magic and money out of it, and give him a taste of his own medicine.

Linhardt’s voice shook her from her thoughts. “Don’t tell me you’re actually getting attached to this guy,” he chided. “You’re normally so level-headed about this. It took _months_ of dating Ferdinand before you felt comfortable opening up to him.”

“Lin!” Caspar pleaded, eyes darting back and forth between his two friends. Dorothea was taken aback by the statement, but managed to keep her expression calm.

“I don’t think Ferdie is relevant to this conversation, Lin,” she said stiffly. She’d barely heard or said his name since she’d moved to Garreg Mach. And she intended to keep it that way.

Her subdued reaction was luckily enough to move Linhardt away from the subject. “Right. Sorry. But the initial point still stands,” he continued. “You’ve been dating Sylvain for what, two weeks? That’s barely enough time to make this decision.”

She opened her mouth to respond, but she knew Linhardt was right. Caspar spoke up instead. “That’s fair and all, but you haven’t seen them together, Lin.” He turned to Dorothea, placing a hand on her knee. “You look happy when you’re with him, Thea. Really happy. And if you’re having a good time, I don’t think there’s anything wrong with jumping into something without thinking,” he said.

Their gazes were on her now, waiting to hear a decision. Dorothea stared up at the ceiling, already knowing the answer. She just needed to give herself a few more moments for her logical brain to kick in and talk her out of it.

In the end, it didn’t.

—

The sun was low in the sky when Sylvain tiredly climbed the steps to his apartment, mentally and physically exhausted from the afternoon’s cleaning efforts. He immediately made for the bathroom and cranked on the hot water for the bath, rummaging around underneath his sink for a bath bomb he vaguely remembered Annette giving him for Christmas. It was glittery and colorful and cotton candy scented, just like her. He tossed it in, watching the colors swirl and bubble while he stripped off his shirt, scattering it to the tile; the rest of his clothes quickly followed.

As the water filled, he strode naked into the kitchen and grabbed a beer from the fridge, commanded his speakers to put his entire music library on shuffle and returned to the tub, inhaling the steam that was beginning to envelop the room. He took a huge swig from the bottle, sank into the sweet-smelling pastel concoction and proceeded to soak until the water got cold.

He wanted to turn his brain off. So far, nothing was working. At the very least he was comfortable, and still capable of thinking positively.

His first attempt had been to throw himself into his chores, to volunteer for every ridiculous task Ingrid nominated, a kind of brute force method to distract him from his thoughts. But the work took him all over the estate, and each location just reignited the memories from the previous night, ones he was trying to avoid. Ingrid had certainly been pleased with his productivity, so much so that it overrode her curiosity over Sylvain’s newfound dedication.

Felix had caught on that something was amiss, but instead of addressing it he’d settled on shooting Sylvain inquisitive looks whenever they’d encountered each other. Sylvain did not initiate any conversation, and thus nothing was said. Talking about feelings was something Felix only did when drunk — and for once, Sylvain appreciated this fact.

Attempt number two was a pit-stop on the way home, to one Garreg Mach Monastery. He was not religious, but he couldn’t deny that the place was absolutely gorgeous. Not to mention full of staircases. Sylvain climbed the Goddess Tower five times before his legs turned to jello, his lungs gasped for air and dark spots grew at the edge of his vision. But when he closed his eyes he saw Dorothea, her green eyes alight and her lips curled into a sultry smile, emerald flames pouring forth from her fingers.

He’d collapsed on one of the lawns, a brief respite before one of the nuns found him and escorted him back to his car. She’d been cute and he hadn’t even felt the urge to flirt with her.

So now he was dunking his worn muscles in shimmery soup, saturating his senses with music and scented soaps, lightheaded from heat and alcohol and praying to the Goddess that the third time would be the charm. Miraculously it was, though not in the way he’d intended. His thoughts were no longer racing, slowed to a reasonable pace for him to properly assess each one as it came to him.

Magic was real. He’d seen Dorothea use it. She could take it — from him or from anyone, so long as she could get them excited, or to feel some kind of affection for her. That’s how she’d explained it. “Something as simple as admiration for a beautifully written song,” he mumbled, his lips hovering just above the surface of the water. But intimacy was the most effective way.

That particular method of magic was unique to her. She hadn’t used a particular label, but the word ‘demon’ hung on his memory, spoken by that distorted voice in the woods. Another magic user, and one who was certainly up to no good. He submerged his head and began to remember the fight, or what little he’d been able to see in the dark.

It was all insane, too insane. If he stayed under the water long enough, maybe he would pass out and awaken to find it had all been a dream.

Instead he resurfaced with a shiver, lifted himself out of the tub and pulled the drain, grabbing a towel to shake the glitter out of his hair. Dwelling on the events of the previous night would do him no good. The more relevant question on his mind now was what this all meant for him and Dorothea.

To Sylvain, the answer was simple: he’d made it abundantly clear that he wanted to keep seeing her, that whatever added complications thrown into their path were irrelevant. Or at least he hoped he’d made that clear. Dorothea’s uncertain gaze before they left had been haunting him all day. It was ultimately her decision, and she had the power to make him forget everything. That was terrifying, having no control over what was happening. He’d relinquished what little he had when he’d mustered up the willpower to refuse her that morning, to let her leave when she’d offered to stay.

And if she chose to run, he couldn’t exactly blame her for it. He leaned against the sink counter, brushing a hand across the fogged mirror until he could see his face clearly. “Yeah, that’s you,” he said. “Always being an idiot and leaping before you think. Not giving a shit about how anybody else feels.” His eyes dropped to the marble, watching the water drip down to the floor. “I would bail too, if I were her.”

His phone buzzed in the next room and he nearly slipped rushing to it. So much for keeping a clear head, he thought, immediately working to temper his expectations. It was probably Ingrid or Felix, maybe even Bernadetta. Sylvain exhaled slowly before lighting up the screen, checking the name several times before it fully registered.

 **> Dorothea:** you still free tonight?

The dread boiling beneath his skin evaporated in an instant.

 **> Sylvain:** for you, always :)

 **> Dorothea:** right… and you’re home rn?

 **> Sylvain:** sure am!

 **> Dorothea:** excellent, I’ll be there in five

“Shit,” he mumbled. His eyes fell to the towel still wrapped around his waist, hands fidgeting through his still-damp hair. Another near-faceplant later and he was fishing through his closet for a fresh outfit. The doorbell rang in the middle of trying on shirt number three, which he hadn’t realized read “Warning: I do dumb things!”, and he promptly threw up his hands. Dorothea would have to settle for some low-brow humor this evening.

Sylvain swung the door open and she was there, as radiant as he remembered. “Helloooo,” he sang, his tongue not quite caught up with his brain.

“Hey,” Dorothea said, her eyes focused on his chest. “Nice, uh, shirt you’ve got there.”

He laughed it off. “Thanks. Felix got it for me last year.” They stood awkwardly for a moment, a tense feeling permeating the air. Dorothea made eye contact with him, an uncertain glint peeking through her gaze. Sylvain motioned inside. “Care to join me?”

“Actually, I’m here to kidnap you,” she said playfully, motioning behind her with her thumb. Sylvain looked out to the street to see Caspar leaning against the passenger side of his parked car, waving excitedly while Linhardt peeked out the window. Dorothea continued. “We’re going to karaoke. Think of it like a double-date.”

“Date? I like the sound of that, at least,” he replied, looking back to her. “Dorothea, I—”

Before he had an opportunity to follow his sentence to its conclusion (whatever that was), she’d grabbed the fabric of his shirt and pulled him into a rough kiss, hungry and more desperate than was really necessary. Not that he was complaining. “I’m in this, alright? No reservations,” she breathed, holding her forehead against his.

He took a moment to catch his breath, not wanting the moment to end. “Me too. But you already knew that."

She flashed him a bright, genuine smile before taking notice of something on his neck. Her fingertips brushed the skin, holding up her hand to show a few flecks of glitter that had been stuck there. “Care to explain why you’re covered in sparkles and smell like a carnival booth?”

Sylvain sighed, lowering her hand and lacing his fingers into hers before leading her down the stairs. “Let’s just go belt out some tunes, okay? You are going to love my rendition of ‘Dancing Queen’.”

Dorothea chuckled, and he braced for the snarky retort. But she just gave his hand a squeeze and nodded, her hair blowing lightly in the wind. “Yeah, I think I will.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been so excited to write more interactions with Dorothea, Caspar and Linhardt. They're all chaotic bisexuals and I'm convinced they braid each other's hair on a regular basis.
> 
> This chapter concludes the end of the first arc of the story! The next few chapters are going to be more on the fluffy side, with minimal plot. As usual, thanks to all my readers!


	7. Glad To Be Born

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorothea joins Sylvain and his friends for a birthday celebration.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm over two months late for Sylvain's birthday, but better late than never!
> 
> Content Warning: there is brief, minor mention of (long past) self harm and ED in this chapter. On a happier note, there is also explicit sexual content in this chapter! Hope you enjoy it.

_Sing It From the Rooftops: Garreg Mach's New Power Couple???_

_Helloooo darlings! I hope you've all got your oven mitts ready because this week's GMGU (Garreg Mach Gossip Update) is coming in 🔥 HOT HOT HOT! And just in time for summer, too! (As an aside, make sure you check out my listicle '10 Tips to Finding Your Perfect Summer Fling' to kick off the season properly!)_

_You've already heard me gush over Dorothea Arnault, the opera diva turned solo songstress who rolled into town just this past November. This sultry siren fled the music scene in Enbarr and has wasted no time sweeping the masses of Garreg Mach off our collective feet. We're not exactly sure what convinced her to move out of the big city, but you won't catch me complaining. Dorothea has the voice of an angel, the disposition of a queen and a fashion sense to rival my own! Is there anything this woman can't do?_

_Apparently, the answer to that is a resounding 'YES'. Multiple sources have confirmed that Miss Arnault has, like many of us, failed to resist the charms of one Sylvain Jose Gautier. Not that we can blame her: Sylvain has stolen many a heart with his killer combo of stunning good looks, ties to the Faerghus wealthy and an insatiable lust for life (his words, not mine). If you're a frequent reader of my column, odds are you follow Sylvain on at least one of his platforms. And he's been dropping some subtle hints that he's just as enamored with Dorothea as the rest of us._

_The story goes that these two met and hit it off at one of Dorothea's shows — though some claim the sparks first flew at one of Edelgard von Hresvelg's parties. Regardless of the details, witnesses at the Fraldarius Fling reported some undeniable PDA. And I was one of said witnesses. Since then, Sylvain and Dorothea have been seen dining together at restaurants, belting out tunes at karaoke, enjoying a cup of tea at the cafe… you name it. I think the evidence is clear: we've got a new power couple on our hands!_

_So, my lovely readers: have you spotted this dynamic duo around town? When do you think they'll announce the wedding? And what should their cutesy couple name be, anyway? I leave answering these burning questions in your capable hands… until my next Gossip Update, of course! 💖_

_Luxuriously Yours,_   
_Hilda Valentine_

—

Dorothea stared contemplatively at the article on her phone, the hot pink background threatening to give her a migraine. Her finger hovered over the heart-plastered button to open the comments section, Sylvain's idle chatter on his own phone tethering her to reality. She scrolled up, examining the photos Hilda had included: one promotional image from her last opera performance in Enbarr; another of her with Hilda, the two of them meticulously posed and wearing jewelry she knew cost more than her rent. Next were a few overly-produced pictures from Sylvain's modeling portfolio that she looked at for a couple more moments than necessary, a slight smile crossing her face.

Finally her eyes settled on a post from just a few days earlier, one she'd already seen once on Sylvain's Instagram: a simple shot taken from a cafe table, his face peeking in from the corner and smiling while Dorothea sat with her guitar in the background, mid-song. The caption read 'came for the coffee, stayed for the singer'. She rolled her eyes.

"You're reading that again?" Sylvain's lilting voice came from over her shoulder, followed by a quick peck on the cheek that prompted her to place the phone down on the kitchen table.

"Don't judge me," she replied playfully, resting her elbows on the table and watching as he padded back to the sink, running the water and soaping up his frying pan. "Wait, let me help with that," she said, rising from her seat and joining Sylvain at the counter.

He eyed her half-eaten breakfast, sticking his elbow out to keep her from getting closer. "You haven't finished your food yet," he insisted. Dorothea groaned, bumping her hip against his and wresting the dish from Sylvain's hands. He briefly feigned resistance, but ultimately stepped aside, watching her scrub the cookware with a grin plastered across his face. She'd wanted to make him breakfast, but Sylvain had woken up first and beaten her to it. The least she could do was handle the clean-up.

"Who was that on the phone?" she asked casually as Sylvain stepped back to the table and scooped up her plate, sneaking a bite before making his way back over. "Hopefully no last-minute cancellations for today?"

He shook his head, leaning against the stove. "Nah, just Dimitri sending his well wishes and apologizing again for not being able to make it out," he explained, a hint of wistfulness in his voice. Dorothea couldn't recall if she'd ever met Edelgard's step-brother, but she understood he was constantly busy with the political scene in Fhirdiad. She also suspected there was more going on there, but that was a story for another day. "I'm glad Dedue is joining for dinner, though," he added.

Dorothea placed the pan carefully in the drying rack and wrung out her hands, claiming her food back from Sylvain. She took a forkful of egg and waved it mischievously in front of his lips. "Did you want more?" she asked. He locked eyes with her and nodded. Dorothea tossed the fork back to the plate, sliding it onto the counter. "Help yourself, then," she said, planting her hands on either side of his waist and pinning him against the granite.

Sylvain sighed dramatically, not breaking his gaze. "Is this any way to treat a man on such a special day?" His hands found her hips, guiding her closer to him. "And don't you have something to say to me, anyway?"

She smirked at him. "I said it last night, remember? Which was technically this morning."

"Say it again, then," he commanded.

"Fine," she relented, moving a hand to the back of his neck and pulling him into a kiss. "Happy birthday, Sylvain."

He tapped her nose lightly as they parted. "Now that's more like it."

—

Dorothea was beginning to get the idea that Sylvain’s friends didn’t actually enjoy hanging out in Garreg Mach proper. They’d been on the road for two hours, heading north along a freeway that would eventually take them through Arianrhod to Lake Teutates, and eventually the Rhodos Coast — if they followed it for the rest of the day, that is. Luckily Felix had mentioned they were almost to their destination ten minutes earlier.

“Where are we going again?” she asked, fidgeting with the strap of her sports bra through her worn-out high school theater T-shirt. The sun was steadily rising towards mid-day and promising clear, hot weather for the foreseeable future.

“It’s a ranch up near where Ashe grew up,” Ingrid explained from the front, her hands steady on the wheel and eyes glued to the road. “I’ve been there a few times. The family who runs it is really nice and knows what they’re doing,” she added. Her voice sounded restrained, and Dorothea knew she was holding back from gushing about the place.

“But how does it compare to the Galatea Ranch?” Sylvain asked, leaning his forearms on the back of Ingrid’s seat.

She sighed. “Not as big, but I didn’t want us all going crazy on a long car ride. Again.”

Sylvain turned to Dorothea, lowering his voice. “Pretty sure she just doesn’t want to deal with her folks right now,” he said. Ingrid frowned at him through the rear-view mirror. “They would make a big deal out of it and insist on everybody staying for the weekend,” he clarified.

Dorothea turned the subject back to the day’s activities. “And how are they with… beginners?” She smiled, attempting to hide the anxiety from her voice. Sylvain placed a hand over hers, contributing a sympathetic smile of his own. But before he could provide words of encouragement, Ingrid beat him to the punch.

"They're incredibly patient," she said. "I'm not the one to ask for their teaching ability, but they have young kids who were riding well so I'm sure they'll have plenty of pointers for you."

Not the most reassuring statement, but Dorothea felt her shoulders relax back down. Sylvain gave her hand a squeeze. "You also have an expert around to give you a crash course," he said, his palm pressing flat into his chest before he motioned around the car. "Plus Ingrid and Felix."

"Don't lump me in with you horse girls," Felix grumbled. "I'm just here because it's Sylvain's birthday," he said. Sylvain was silent, but Dorothea noted the way he flushed and smiled at the second statement. She only wished Felix could see it. Feeling relaxed by Sylvain's confidence, she leaned back in her seat and fixed him with an inquisitive stare.

"I hear Ingrid talk about riding all the time, but you've never so much as mentioned it," she noted. "But clearly your horse girl phase isn't over. How come I never hear you talk about it?"

Sylvain's expression darkened, but the glint in his eyes betrayed facetiousness. "Her name was Midnight Thunder. She was the most beautiful stallion I ever had the pleasure to ride," he began. The front of the car suddenly became a cacophony of groans. "I spent nearly my entire summer before college with her. We were an unstoppable force, spending each day riding up and down the Tailtean Plains. Until one day…"

"Sylvain, please," Ingrid said, exasperated.

He persisted. "I woke up late one morning, and when I wandered into the stable, Midnight Thunder was gone. Ingrid took her out that day and sweet MT wanted nothing to do with me after that." He gesticulated wildly with his hands, his mouth twisting into a melodramatic pout. Dorothea noted how Ingrid's grip on the wheel had tightened. Felix was turned as far from Sylvain as physically possible, eyes peering out the passenger side window. He leaned in close to her, nodding his head towards their driver. Then, in a faux whisper: “You have to look out for this one. She’s a horsewrecker.”

Dorothea eyed him dubiously. “Um,” she managed.

There was a creak of worn leather as Felix turned back around, waving off whatever unwarranted tension was building in the vehicle. “It’s been nearly ten years, Sylvain. Time to stop bringing this up—”

“Her name was _Medea_ ,” Ingrid cut in, her voice reaching an octave Dorothea wasn’t aware she was capable of. “And you hogged her all summer, because ‘this is my last chance to ride with everybody before I ship off to GMU,’” she said, her right hand leaving the wheel to puppet her speech as she attempted her best Sylvain impression. “‘Where I will then proceed to skip classes, spend all my time drinking and partying and avoiding Faerghus like the plague.’”

Dorothea’s gaze was moving rapidly between her three friends, finally settling on Sylvain. “I’m sensing some minor resentment here,” she mumbled.

Sylvain was still focused on Ingrid. “I mean, it’s not a big deal,” he said — in a voice that made it sound very much like it was a big deal. “But let’s not act like you weren’t ‘avoiding Faerghus like the plague’ as soon as you got out of high school, either. I just had a head start.”

“I came back for the horses,” Ingrid replied weakly.

Felix sighed, giving up on changing the subject. “Anyway, Sylvain, way to conveniently leave out _why_ you were late that morning.” Sylvain looked at his friend with mild confusion, which turned into realization a moment later. He opened his mouth to stop Felix, but was too late: “I’m pretty sure your real highlight of that summer was when you finally nailed the stablehand,” he said, shooting Sylvain a teasing smile.

“Ugh, don’t say ‘nailed’,” Ingrid groaned, this time catching Dorothea’s eyes through the mirror. “I’m sorry about my friends, Dorothea.”

“That’s my line,” Sylvain breathed, staring down at his hands in embarrassment. Which was an odd emotion to watch Sylvain experience. It wasn’t until he turned to her with a bright red face that she realized she was laughing. She smiled apologetically, lifting a hand to play with his hair. He wrapped his fingers lightly around her wrist, holding her palm cupped against his cheek.

A commotion from the front interrupted the moment. “There’s Ashe!” Ingrid cried, and Sylvain leaned toward the center console to get a better look. Dorothea spotted a flash of silver hair toward the end of the gravel road they must have turned onto at some point. Ashe Ubert was leaned casually against a wooden fence, beyond which stretched a massive field dotted with trees and punctuated by snow-capped mountains looming in the distance. As they approached Ingrid turned right and followed the edge of the fence into a small parking lot, empty save for a lime green vintage Mustang.

The car bumped to a stop as Sylvain let out a quick cheer. Ingrid swung her door open excitedly, but it was Felix who darted out first, rushing to meet Ashe as he strolled casually toward them. "Hey, Felix," he said, giving the other man a quick fist bump. Felix's eyes quickly moved down to the camera case slung around Ashe's neck.

“Is that your new digital SLR?” Felix asked, and Ashe lifted it up from his chest.

“Sure is,” he replied, opening the case and showing it off. Felix immediately began examining all the buttons curiously. “I’m trying out a wide lens today,” Ashe continued, looking up toward where the other three guests were still hanging around. “Where’s your camera?”

Felix pointed back to the car with his thumb. Dorothea watched the two men excitedly discussing camera accessories when she heard the whoosh of Sylvain opening the trunk. “Yup, there it is,” he announced, sweeping his arm across the two cases nestled in various blankets. He picked up the smaller of the two (presumably the one with Felix’s camera in it) and began walking over to Ashe. Dorothea must have been wearing a dumbfounded expression, because Ingrid was waving a hand in front of her face.

“I didn’t know Felix was into photography,” she said.

Ingrid nodded, hands on her hips. “Yeah, it’s a bit unexpected, isn’t it? Felix has been into it since middle school, though. He met Ashe through the Photo Club and the rest is history,” she replied. She eyed Dorothea mischievously. “Actually, Sylvain got into modeling with them, since Felix especially loves action and motion photography. He’s dabbled in videography too.”

Dorothea watched as Sylvain pulled a surprised Ashe into a big hug, lifting him off his feet just a little bit. “That’s pretty impressive,” she said. When she turned back, Ingrid had an even bigger grin on her face.

“They went through a whole cosplay photoshoot phase.”

“Hey! What weird, embarrassing secrets are you telling Dorothea?” Sylvain yelled across the parking lot. Ingrid rolled her eyes and began walking over, motioning to Dorothea to join her.

“Only the true ones,” she called back at him.

Ashe had one of the kindest faces Dorothea had ever seen, smiling brightly at her. Up close, she could see the myriad freckles splashed across his face. “Nice to meet you, Ashe,” she said as she strode up to him, offering a hand. “I’m Dorothea.”

His eyes flicked quickly to Sylvain, then back to her. “I’ve heard a lot about you,” he said, shaking her outstretched hand. “From all three of them,” he added, “And also from you, technically, since I’ve listened to your EP several times now. You have the voice of an angel.” Dorothea felt a blush streak across her face — most of the time she heard that phrase it came off as flirtatious, but Ashe said it so earnestly that it took her aback.

"Oh goddess, thank you," she said. Her eyes fell to his camera. "I hear you're pretty good with that thing."

"It's just a hobby," Ashe insisted. Sincere and modest, she thought, and she could practically hear her brain working to figure out how such a patient man managed to be friends with both Sylvain and Felix. The former placed a firm hand on Ashe's shoulder, shaking his head.

"Give yourself more credit, man!" Sylvain exclaimed. "You've gotten your work published before, remember? And I probably wouldn't have gotten so into modeling if it weren't for you and Fe," he added. "I'm looking forward to some great shots from today."

As he continued rambling, Dorothea found she could no longer resist the question. "Is it true you all did… cosplay?" She asked. Sylvain stopped mid-sentence, and Felix turned pale as a sheet. Ashe giggled, looking at Ingrid.

Sylvain also turned to his fellow horse girl, but with a more annoyed expression. " _That's_ what you were telling her?"

"Not something I particularly wanted to remember," Felix mumbled.

Ashe swooped in with a smile. "Yes! I had nearly forgotten, it was so long ago," he explained. "Mostly characters from fantasy novels, some sci-fi and video game characters too." He procured a phone from his pocket. "If I dig back far enough I might be able to find a few photo sets," he said, but was interrupted by Sylvain giving him a rough pat on the back.

"Isn't it about time we get to the horses?" he suggested, and Felix immediately began speed-walking ahead of them.

"Yes, let's!" Ingrid agreed, her excitement for their afternoon's plans overriding the joy from properly embarrassing her friends.

Dorothea sighed, her nervousness from the car ride rearing its head again. She joined Ashe as they strolled leisurely behind the rest of the group. "You can show me later," she whispered to him as they headed for the stables.

—

The Magdred ranch was certainly out of the way, but Sylvain had to admit he was thankful to Ingrid for suggesting horseback riding for his birthday. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d taken the reins and felt the distinct rush of galloping with wild abandon across the Faerghus landscape, or the feeling of being perfectly in sync with his steed. So much time had passed, in fact, that he was quietly praying to the goddess that his skills hadn’t gotten rusty.

But as he, Felix and Ingrid worked to saddle their horses, Sylvain couldn’t help but be distracted by the sight of Dorothea swiping casually through Ashe’s phone, ooh-ing and aah-ing at what had to be his most embarrassing pictures from high school. Ingrid’s elbow met with his ribs, urging him to stay focused.

“Of all the things to tell her, Ingrid,” he moaned, turning back to the animal he was tending and admiring her shiny coat and well-trimmed mane. His childhood horse admiration was quickly coming back, and it was almost enough to distract him from his annoyance. Almost.

Felix, who normally didn’t care to see Sylvain so aggravated, was in complete agreement on this particular subject. “I understand throwing Sylvain under the bus, but did you have to include me in this particular throwback?” he growled. Ingrid rolled her eyes, pulling a brush out of the box of supplies they’d carried from the storehouse and going to town on the horse in front of her, humming softly.

“Cheer up, you two. The horses can detect your pointless negativity, and it’ll bum them out,” she said. Great, Sylvain thought. Cheery, horse-crazy Ingrid had come out to play. He finished fastening a saddle and gave the stallion a celebratory pat before strolling over to Dorothea, who greeted him with a teasing smile. He braced for the worst.

“Greetings, my lord,” she said, giving him a dramatic curtsy. “How doth the kingdom fare today?”

He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Save it,” he begged. She responded with an exaggerated pout, and Ashe gave both of them an incredulous look before quietly excusing himself, leaving to join Felix and Ingrid. Dorothea held the frown for several seconds before Sylvain finally gave in, taking a deep breath. “It fares well, milady. The horses are… ecstatic about this weather. Huzzah,” he finished, half-heartedly. But she appeared satisfied. “Seriously, though, let’s pick a horse out for you to ride,” he said, leading her down to the stable entrance.

Dorothea had her arms crossed as they walked, her expression serious. “Hey, are you alright? I know it’s your first time doing this,” he asked, rubbing her upper arm and noticing the tension she was holding. They stopped walking, and he watched as she tried visibly to relax her shoulders.

“I really do want to learn,” she began, her face softening. “They’re just so big and… a bit intimidating, you know?” Her eyes met his. “Actually, they probably aren’t to you. But you love it, so I’m determined to love it, too!”

Sylvain took her by the hand, resuming their walk. “You don’t have to love it, but I do want you to have a good time,” he said. “I’m just glad you’re here.” They came to a stop at the edge of the stables, and Sylvain swept an arm across the long hall full of hay and the occasional sound of whinnies.

“Likewise,” Dorothea mumbled, taking a survey of all the horses. Her blank expression suggested she had no idea what to look for.

“Here…” he said, trailing off as the smell of the place hit him and whisked his mind off into a memory; visions of another stable hundreds of miles north, a dark mahogany building standing in stark contrast against a barren snowscape. It swept over him in an instant, and he was left with the sensation of a string pulling tightly across his chest — a feeling that stopped just short of homesickness. If Dorothea noticed his thoughts wander, she did not mention it.

They stepped further in, pacing alongside the stalls and keeping an eye out for the chalkboards mounted on each gate indicating which horses were available to ride that day. Sylvain stopped in front of an auburn quarter horse, observing it quietly. From the corner of his eye he saw Dorothea turn towards a set of approaching footfalls, and followed her gaze to meet with a young man, likely in his mid-teens. He had a freckled face and a familiar smile.

"Are you Dorothea?" he asked softly. "I'm Dustin, Ashe's cousin. My parents own the ranch," he said, giving them both a quick introductory bow. He looked at Sylvain briefly before setting his sights on the horse. "Looks like you've taken a liking to Athena."

Sylvain bobbed his head. "She looks well-taken care of," he observed. "I'm already taking Hermes out, though. We're looking to fix this gal up with an equine guide." His hands clapped down on Dorothea's shoulders to punctuate the statement, causing her to jump in surprise.

"Did I miss something about giving horses Greek names?" she wondered in a low voice, reaching a hand to massage the back of her neck. "But yes, I'm Dorothea. Nice to meet you," she added, offering her hand.

Dustin shook it, eyes moving back toward the other man. "Then you must be Sylvain," he said. "Happy birthday. We're glad you made it out." His voice had a deadpan quality to it that still managed to sound friendly, and he stepped up to the gate and called Athena over gently. Sylvain watched as Dorothea made yet another nervous attempt at a smile, and decided that her flustered face was cute. Really, really cute. Dustin motioned her closer, until she stood eye-to-eye with Athena. "Ingrid tells me this is your first time riding," he said to her.

She was enthralled by the creature before her, though her arms remained glued to her sides. "Yes," she managed. "I've really not spent any time around horses, so this is all very new to me."

Before the younger boy could respond, Sylvain leaned down and spoke softly in her ear, his hand resting on her mid-back. "Horses are very empathetic, which can be overwhelming initially, but they're also incredibly loyal and loving. Not unlike dogs," he said. "So it’s important to develop an understanding of their temperament, and utilize that to better communicate while riding," he added, though Dorothea looked at him skeptically.

"He's right," Dustin confirmed. "Would you like to feed her?"

"Oh, um—"

Sylvain stepped back and watched as Dustin procured a small tupperware and took Dorothea’s hand, smoothing it out flat and placing a small handful of chopped carrots into her outstretched palm. She was beginning to relax without being prompted to, and her eyes widened as Athena dipped down to take the offered food. “It tickles,” she whispered, and she tilted her head to meet Sylvain’s gaze, flashing him a smile.

“Perfect, she likes you,” Dustin observed enthusiastically. “Athena has a calm demeanor that makes her an excellent choice for beginners. Are you ready to actually take her on a ride?” Dorothea gave him a tentative nod. “Ingrid asked me to set you up with an introductory lesson. My parents taught me to ride, so you’ll be in good hands,” he added.

As if summoned by her name, Ingrid’s voice echoed from the stable entrance. “Sylvain! Are you ready to head out?”

“Five minutes!” he called back, turning to Dorothea, searching for reassurance. “I did want to watch you get in the saddle for the first time, though,” he said.

“Yea, I’d rather you wait until I have a slightly better idea of what I’m doing,” she said, standing on her tippy-toes to plant a quick kiss on his cheek. “Go enjoy your birthday ride. I’ll meet up with you in a couple hours and you can pick a good trail for us to follow after my lesson,” she added. Then, in a faux-whisper: “Please let it be something easy.”

He clicked his tongue in understanding, walking backwards toward where his friends were waiting for him. “I’ll try.”

—

Ingrid insisted, on multiple occasions, that riding a horse was like riding a bike. Beyond a brief adjustment period and the confused cries from his out-of-practice leg muscles, Sylvain was happy to find that she was right. While Dorothea learned the basics, the trio of childhood friends — as well as Ashe, who proved to be quite skilled at handling a camera on horseback — performed a thorough exploration of the ranch property. Ingrid pointed out various landmarks as they galloped across the plains, and Sylvain noted several trailheads worth looking into when he met back up with his date.

After two hours of riding, Felix retreated first, bringing Ashe with him to perform some photography on foot. Sylvain was left trotting along with Ingrid, who was unsurprisingly relaxed even through her fatigued breathing and the mid-afternoon sun beating down from a cloudless sky. They rode silently, though Sylvain imagined she was having a whole wordless conversation with her horse. Like back in the stables, Sylvain found himself overcome by nostalgia; if it weren’t for Ingrid’s short, unencumbered hair or the idle thoughts of Garreg Mach wandering in the back of his mind, he could have sworn he was eighteen again.

He was surprised to hear Ingrid break the silence. “You seem happy,” she said triumphantly. “If not a bit distracted.”

“As usual, you know just how to plan a birthday,” he replied.

“Mm,” she affirmed, and he sensed she was resisting the urge to add some form of “I told you so”. For how long they’d known each other, Sylvain was aware of a thin barrier that had slowly built up between them over the past few years. An invisible wall that often resulted in these long conversational pauses, simultaneously empty and full of unspoken words. For the first time in a while, it felt like maybe that curtain was falling down.

Despite how wide the path was, she was riding directly ahead of him, and Sylvain gave his horse a quick command and sped up so that they were side by side. “About that summer ten years ago. Are you angry about that?” he asked, pushing down the pang of regret that swept over him as the words left his mouth.

Surprise flashed across Ingrid’s face, too quickly for her to suppress it. After a moment of thought, she answered: “I’m never angry with you, Sylvain.”

“Bullshit,” he said sharply. “I was acting like a complete ass the whole time, and pretty much ever since.”

She shrugged. “Maybe so, but I’m not angry about it. Never was.” Her gaze was on the sky, watching as a single cloud rolled across the horizon. “It’s… a waste of energy, really. Felix is the only one who bothers with being angry at you, and even then he doesn’t mean it. And obviously Dimitri has always had bigger things to worry about.”

Sylvain sighed, slightly skeptical. Ingrid was looking at him now, an enigmatic smile on her face. “You ask the weirdest questions at the weirdest times. But if you want to spend your birthday addressing years of repressed guilt and unresolved trauma, I guess I can’t stop you.”

“I never realized you were so ambivalent, Ingrid,” he said.

“Quite the opposite,” she insisted. Before Sylvain could follow that thread further, she steered the conversation elsewhere. “Has your new girlfriend got you re-thinking your devil-may-care approach to life?” She narrowed her eyes playfully.

He chose not to take the bait. "She's probably about done with her lesson," he mused aloud. "Might be about time to head back and check in," he said, turning his horse around. He heard Ingrid catching up behind him, and her excitement was practically audible as well. "Let me guess," Sylvain began. "You want to—"

"Let's race," she announced with a giggle.

“Sounds about right,” Sylvain said. “I mean, you’re going to win, but I can humor you.”

“Oh come on, I’m not going to race you with _that_ attitude,” she groaned, but he could already see the competitive spirit burning fiercely in her eyes. Fine, he thought, rolling out his neck and shoulders and cooing softly to his horse. Ingrid turned back to face their destination, bringing herself to a stop next to Sylvain. “On my count,” she said.

The tension in the air was yet another remnant from their youth. “This is why Felix gives us so much shit, you know,” he said, waiting for Ingrid’s signal. Though if getting called a horse girl by his best friend was the worst he had to deal with today, he supposed that was alright.

As he’d predicted, Ingrid won, though not by as wide of a margin as expected. Sylvain even felt that he could have beaten her, if not for his desire to save some energy for his ride with Dorothea. The latter was still practicing with her instructor when the two riding veterans arrived, both of them breathless and exhilarated from the sprint; she barely noticed them through her own intense focus. When she finally saw them approaching she gave them a light wave, straightening her posture.

“You’re doing so well!” Ingrid cried, the thrill of victory still overtaking her face. “How are you liking it?”

Dorothea let out a huff of air. “I’m using muscles I didn’t even know I had,” she breathed. “But it’s just terrifying enough to keep me wanting more,” she said, almost flirtatiously.

“Careful, Thea,” Sylvain warned. “Ingrid might just start dragging you out here every other weekend.” He wasn’t entirely convinced that his agreeing to this whole day wouldn’t give her an excuse to tempt him back, at least. And if Dorothea was interested, maybe he’d have extra incentive to make that happen.

She guided her horse toward him, smiling expectantly. “Ready to take me on an adventure?” He hummed at the question, wishing he could pull her into a kiss right there. Ingrid had dismounted quietly, leading her horse back to the stables and giving them a wave.

“I saw a place worth checking out just past the woods,” he said, feeling her eyes scanning up and down his body.

With a nod they took off, Sylvain making sure to lead her at a comfortable pace. It was easy enough for him to go into auto-pilot and watch Dorothea as she put all her energy towards riding. "You look more relaxed, that's good. Try to enjoy the scenery while we're here," he said. They were making their way through the first large field, headed to an outcropping of trees that winded up into the foothills. The wild grass was still mostly green, but golden flecks stood out among the blades, a promise of the approaching summer.

He spotted the hitching post Ingrid had pointed out to him earlier, a shaded area positioned across from a trail marker. "Stay there," he told Dorothea, easing off his horse and tying him quickly to the wooden rail. "Your legs are probably more tired than you realize, so be careful," he advised, offering her his hand to help her down. It was a successful but wobbly landing, and Dorothea let out a light cry as she held onto Sylvain's waist for stability. He was unable to suppress a giggle as she wiggled her hips, assessing her current level of exhaustion.

"You're enjoying this a bit too much," she said as Sylvain pulled away to secure her steed. She took in their surroundings, focusing her attention on the path snaking through the trees.

"There's something exciting about seeing you out of your element," he replied, placing a hand on her shoulder. "Your usual confidence is still sexy as hell, don't get me wrong," he added, locking eyes with her. "But—"

"Sometimes a guy just wants a damsel he can rescue, yeah?" She teased, sliding her fingers along the sides of his abdomen again and inching closer. “Normally I’d protest,” she said, tilting her chin delicately, as if actively channeling her inner princess. “But it _is_ your birthday, so maybe I can play along.” Her expression turned curious. “I wonder which character you’d like? Maybe Cinderella?”

Sylvain chose not to voice the thought that, with the way her boots and jeans had received a light coating of dust and her sweat-slick skin glistened in the sunlight, Dorothea appeared to have not met her fairy godmother yet. He took one of her hands and stepped to the side, prepping to spin her and smiling at the way she immediately picked up on the cue. He pulled her toward him, watching her turn and placing a hand at just the right moment to dip her back. She shook with laughter as Sylvain held her body and her gaze.

“No need to put on an act,” he said, his voice low. “Just admit you love seeing a man who knows what he’s doing.”

Her lips quivered, then curled into a smile. “And what are you doing, exactly?” As she asked the question, Sylvain lifted her upright and motioned to the trail ahead of them.

“Keep following my lead and you’ll find out.”

—

Though the path was shaded, it was only a slight deterrent to the afternoon heat. Approaching the peak of another hill, Dorothea found herself taking another moment to catch her breath. Sylvain saw a frightening frustration building in her eyes. "Just a little bit more," he said tentatively. When met by panting, he added a weak "I'm so sorry."

She waved the apology off. "No, no, it's fine. I'm realizing I might need to take up running or something." The stairs from the cathedral tower popped into her head. "You're always making me work for it, aren't you?"

Sylvain was a few strides ahead, stopping at the top. "I think I make it worth the effort," he said. As Dorothea joined him she watched how the road dipped and then widened into a clearing, revealing a small waterfall flowing into a creek that cut through the hills. As they made their way carefully down the incline, the sound of softly rushing water echoed across the grass, and a breeze carried the scent of moss.

“Certainly beats the last time we were in the woods,” Dorothea joked as she rushed ahead of Sylvain, stopping along the edge of the creekbed. She watched the current meander slowly past, and Sylvain seated himself on the rocks behind her. Her ears perked up at the sound of him sliding off his boots. “Oh, good idea,” she said, working at her own laces. Within a minute they were wobbling along the smooth submerged river rocks, cool water licking at their ankles and jeans rolled up just below their knees. “Mmm, that feels amazing,” she moaned lightly.

“Finally, some time to relax,” he said, shuffling closer to her as they both admired the view. Dorothea leaned into him, stretching her leg behind her. He watched her curl her hand into a fist and knead up and down her outer thigh. “Here, take a seat,” he said, leading her to a rock that was at just the right height for her feet to dangle off the edge and into the water. Sylvain took a seat beside her and guided her right leg up onto the rock, lightly massaging the base of her calf and making his way down to her foot.

Dorothea hummed happily, leaning towards Sylvain as he worked the pad of his thumb into each of her cleanly painted toes. “Thank you, “ she said, and he flashed her a gentle smile before returning his focus to the task. Once he’d addressed each section adequately he lifted her foot to his lips, planting a kiss along the top and eliciting a soft gasp from her. She swallowed it back with a bite of her lip.

“You’re welcome,” he sang, his voice vibrating against her skin and making her shudder. He seemed pretty pleased about that, setting her leg aside and moving closer. His fingers slid along the fabric of her jeans, and Dorothea ran a hand through his hair as his lips found hers. She gripped his scalp to keep them stable as she rose to her knees, Sylvain’s arms wrapping tightly around her waist as his neck craned upward. Dorothea’s leg pressed into his crotch, smiling through their kiss as she felt his budding erection.

She pulled away, scanning the pond. With her mouth disengaged, Sylvain trailed kisses down her neck and toward her breasts, his hand sliding up the fabric of her T-shirt. “Need a little help here,” he breathed as he managed to push it up and over her chest, noticing her eyes wander. Dorothea’s gaze had settled beyond the waterfall, noting a small alcove behind it. Perfect.

“Right,” she said, pulling the top over her head and tossing it onto the rock, wiggling out of Sylvain’s arms in the process. He followed her lead and freed himself of his own shirt with a relieved sigh. “Let’s explore a bit more.” She reached for his hand as she stepped back down into the creek, tugging him along behind her. The water deepened enough to reach her knees and soak the bunched up denim, but she shrugged it off. They side-stepped the waterfall and Sylvain’s eyes lit up as he observed the small hideaway Dorothea had found.

Before he could speak Dorothea was kissing him again, and he felt a cool sensation along his back as she pushed him up against one of the large boulders that stretched high up and hugged the hillside. Her hands moved downward to his jeans, swiftly working the buttons and peeling the waistband of his boxers slowly away. The loosened fabric momentarily relieved the pressure building in his groin, but was quickly replaced by Dorothea’s palm finding his hardened member, gripping him forcefully — his sharp intake of breath was like music to her ears.

“I’ve got a birthday present for you,” she whispered, her hand pumping him up and down as she ran her other hand along his chest. She descended to her knees with a soft splash, giving up on keeping her remaining clothes any manner of dry. Sylvain watched her, eyes wide with anticipation and a hint of hesitance. His hands hovered just above her shoulders.

She gave him one long, slow stroke with her hand before trailing her parted lips along the shaft, teasing him with light flicks of her tongue as she reached the top, tasting a hint of pre-cum. Sylvain let out a soft moan as she took the tip into her mouth, tightening her grip as she began moving her hand again. “Shit, Dorothea,” he huffed as she took him in deeper, her own low whine echoing in the back of her throat.

His previous shyness seemed to melt away, hands gripping her shoulders as she fell into a slow rhythm, relishing the desperate sound he made when she swirled her tongue around his pulsing dick. Her own hands had fallen away to let her mouth do the bulk of the work, one bracing against the rock while the other slid slowly along his inner thigh. Sylvain’s breath hitched when she began to gently fondle his balls.

Another pleased curse escaped his lips, and Dorothea took that as a cue to speed up. His fingers ran through her hair, gripping the back of her head and guiding himself further into her mouth. She suppressed a gag, squeezing him harder with her lips as warm tears budded around her eyes — a sensation that only served to exhilarate her as she let him push deeper.

“Thea,” he said, loosening his hold on her and easing her back to a slower pace. “I want to—” his breath was ragged as she released him, looking up expectantly while her fingers continued to tease his foreskin. He took her hand and pulled her back to her feet, lips meeting hers hungrily. “I want to fuck you so bad,” he finally managed, her teeth tugging at his bottom lip.

“Mmm,” she moaned, grinding into him as she looked around, pointing to another rock that looked appropriately smooth, flat and accommodating. “Over there should work,” she said, feeling Sylvain’s thumb nudging open the button of her jeans. She broke away and finished the job, climbing up onto the rock and sliding fully out of her pants and underwear while Sylvain seated himself next to her and did the same. Dorothea finished first, and she wasted no time pushing him onto his back, straddling him. Sylvain’s cock was still engorged and eager; the sight of it was enough to make her wet. She lifted to her knees and he guided himself into her slowly, settling down with a wiggle of her hips.

As she did so, she felt a sore throbbing along her inner thighs, no doubt her body taking its revenge for the afternoon of riding. “Oh,” she said softly, trying to keep a straight face. “That might not work today.”

Sylvain sat up, immediately understanding her plight. “No problem,” he said. “Stay where you are,” he advised, draping her arms around his shoulders while he cupped her ass and pushed off the rock. Dorothea let out a surprised cry and wrapped her legs tightly around his waist, feeling the way he throbbed inside her. His voice purred next to her ear: “Don’t worry, I won’t drop you.”

“I’m not sure if this helps my legs at—” she was interrupted by the rough feeling of rock pressed against her back — Sylvain braced her against it and used the opportunity to push deeper. “Aah,” she moaned, tilting her head back as Sylvain pinned her to the hillside with a string of forceful kisses along her neck and collarbone. He continued thrusting into her, his breath moving in rough pants when his lips weren’t busy tasting her skin. “Fuck, Sylvain.” Her voice was entering its higher range.

While she was rendered speechless by the force of him, he met her eyes with a tender smirk. “You look so cute, coming undone like this,” he whispered, pressing his forehead into hers as she spilled hot breath in his face. Just when she thought he’d reached the peak of his intensity, he sped up, a low growl rumbling from his lips. Dorothea couldn’t stifle her screams any longer. “That’s it,” he said. “Let it all out for me. I want the whole forest to hear you.”

“Sylvain,” she whimpered, her fingertips biting into his shoulder blades — they were both slick with sweat, she realized. “Syl…” she trailed off, burrowing her head in his neck as he came to a momentary stop, peeling her away from the wall.

He tapped his temple against the side of her head, nudging her to face him again. “It’s pretty hot out today, isn’t it?” he noted, backing away from their position. From her vantage point, Dorothea could see the waterfall inching closer to them.

“You wouldn’t,” she muttered, watching as he took another slow step backwards to the stream of water.

“You’ll thank me later,” he said, and Dorothea let out another, different scream as he walked them both directly under the current, soaking their bodies in cold mountain spring water. She scraped her nails against his back in protest, but had to admit to herself that it was incredibly refreshing after everything.

They stayed there for a few moments, squeezing each other even tighter. When Sylvain finally stepped out of the falls’ trajectory he beamed at her, water droplets glistening on his cheeks as they caught the afternoon sun’s rays. Dorothea’s whole body quivered, taking a good hard look at the man in front of her. With her face covered in water, it was hard to tell if there were actual tears running down her face — at least he wouldn’t be able to tell, if they were. She kissed him, slowly.

She realized he was still hard, and inside her. “What now?” she asked as their lips parted. Sylvain answered with a grunt, easing her off him and finally returning her feet to the ground. He scanned the meadow that stretched alongside the creek, stepping out of the water and signaling her to follow him.

“I could go a bit longer,” he said. “And there is a whole lotta space out here that we haven’t considered yet, if you haven’t noticed.”

Dorothea laughed and gave his arm a squeeze. “Well then…” she trailed off, letting her eyes do the rest of the talking for her.

They were soaked, exhausted, and naked in the middle of the woods. But they knew how to make it work.

—

Ingrid’s soft footsteps creaked against the floorboards, stopping just outside the closed door to the bathroom. Her ears perked up at the sound of running water and giggling. She leaned against the wall, waiting patiently and praying she wouldn’t hear any more than that. Another melodic laugh echoed louder as the door clicked open and Dorothea slipped out, her hair freshly washed and face covered in a light layer of makeup. No one would have guessed she’d been out riding horses — among other things — all day.

She flashed Ingrid a smile and signaled her to follow back down the stairs, waiting until the growing commotion in the kitchen drowned out all other noise before speaking. “We have ten minutes, tops,” she said, sidling past Felix, who was busy washing a large mixing bowl in the sink.

“We need at least twenty,” he grumbled as she quickly located an open bottle of wine, reaching for one of the thirty or so glasses that was sitting in a box on the dining room table. “Ashe and crew are still decorating the barn, and a few guests are still on their way.”

Dorothea rolled her eyes, taking a sip of her freshly-poured drink. “I’m not going back in there, Felix. My outfit is perfect, and I don’t want to get it all disheveled for the sake of buying a bit more time,” she said with a wink. “We’ll just have to start with a partially-decorated venue and a few guests arriving fashionably late. Which is what you want, generally.”

“Not when it’s a surprise party!” Felix quipped back with gritted teeth, scrubbing furiously.

“Sylvain won’t care either way,” Ingrid said, contemplating the wine before pulling a beer out of the open cooler. Which she noted would need to be moved out to the barn as well. “As per usual, he just wants a low-key birthday celebration with a handful of his close friends.”

“I’ve mentioned it already, but that was such a surprise to hear,” Dorothea said, leaning against the counter. “With how much he loves to work a crowd, I would’ve thought he’d have a much larger engagement planned.”

Felix and Ingrid exchanged looks, and the former grabbed a dish towel to dry his hands as he turned around to face the two women. “Sylvain is an enigma. I’ve known him most of my life and he still manages to baffle me,” he said. “He pulls out all the stops when it comes to his friends, but when the spotlight is on him — the _actual_ Sylvain, not the version he projects on social media — he has a tendency to get shy or even moody.”

The statement was met with two curious stares; neither Ingrid nor Dorothea had expected something so insightful from Felix, of all people. “Yeah, I have nothing much else to add,” Ingrid chimed in. “He acts dumb and showers everyone with flattery to keep them from asking him too many personal questions.”

Dorothea’s mind wandered back to the conversation she’d had with Sylvain in his office, when he’d talked about his father and his future. And the way his eyes had glazed over, his mind somewhere else, a place where she couldn’t follow. The memory worried her, and if Ingrid hadn’t already insisted that holding a slightly-larger-than-expected surprise party was a perfectly fine idea, she would be feeling much more hesitant about the whole plan.

The kitchen grew quiet. Too quiet. “The shower’s off,” Dorothea said, prompting Felix and Ingrid to immediately tense up.

“You said we had ten minutes!” Felix whispered.

“Tops! Ten minutes _tops_!” Dorothea hissed back.

Ingrid sighed, sticking her just-opened beer back in the ice and lifting the cooler, making her way to the back door. “Come on, Felix. It’s game time. Dorothea, keep him occupied for as long as possible. Make as much noise on the way over so we know you’re coming.” She considered for a moment. “Or just text me.”

“You got it,” the other woman replied, already halfway to the staircase. She took them two at a time, reaching the bathroom door just as it swung open to a wide-eyed Sylvain. “Hey, babe!” Dorothea sang, leaning against the doorway as she looked him up and down. He’d changed into his own version of dressed-up: one of her favorite pairs of fitted black jeans and a geometric-print v-neck that showed off his arms. It made sense — he was expecting them to drive back to Garreg Mach for a quiet dinner in the city.

“Hey, Dorothea," he hummed, warm steam wafting into the hallway. “Are Ingrid and Felix ready to head out?”

She ignored the question. “Your hair’s still damp,” she observed.

“I mean, it’ll dry on the way back,” he said, slipping past her and down the stairs. Dorothea followed him, trying not to sound too suspiciously frantic. The kitchen was luckily cleared of all party paraphernalia, save for her half-drunk glass of wine sitting on the tile. “Ooh, getting your pregame on?” he teased, eyeing her flirtatiously. “But seriously, where’s everybody else?”

Dorothea let out a breath she’d been holding, silently apologizing to her co-conspirators. She’d tried her best. “I think they’re helping out with something in the barn,” she said, letting Sylvain pass her so she could shoot Ingrid a quick warning message. He was a man on a mission, stepping through the backdoor and marching across the yard to the barn, which was completely inconspicuous from the outside. The one low light that was still on cut out as they approached.

“Ingrid! Felix!” Sylvain called as he swung open the door. He let out a confused breath, trying to make out what he could in the dark. Dorothea could see that several round tables were set up around the entrance, and a long banquet table was covered at the far end, barely visible. String lights were criss-crossed all over the room, though he didn’t seem to notice. “Guys?” he asked.

The power flickered on, flooding the room with bright lights while a loud chorus of “SURPRISE!” echoed through the building. A crowd of about twenty people jumped out from various sections of the room, with Felix and Ingrid emerging from behind the closest table to the entrance.

The cacophony of cheers died down and there was a long, pregnant pause as Sylvain stood face-to-face with a room full of people determined to drive out and celebrate his birthday here, dammit. Dorothea turned to watch him, registering the shock on his face and keeping an eye out for any glimmer of a problematic reaction. He scanned his eyes across the crowd, his mouth slightly agape, before speaking in a low, low voice. “I can’t believe you guys,” he said.

Then the sides of his mouth curled upwards in a huge, beaming smile. “I can’t believe you all couldn’t wait for me to get back to Garreg Mach to party! This is wonderful!” he cried, and Dorothea was 90% sure it was sincere. After all, they’d made a point to only invite the folks who were supposed to stop by their dinner in the city. As the smiling figures began to approach him, Sylvain turned to Dorothea for a brief moment, his smile shrinking to something gentler and more manageable. His eyes lit up and Dorothea finally felt she could relax.

Hilda stood in the back of the room with two hulking men Sylvain didn’t quite recognize — one was sporting the same bright-pink hair as Hilda, while the other had foregone wearing a shirt — and fiddled with a set of speakers until upbeat music began booming throughout the room, mingling with the sound of chatter and glasses clinking as everybody stopped by to give their well-wishes to the birthday boy. Felix swooped in and handed Sylvain a beer so he would be prepared for the long line of toasts ahead of him.

Sneaking around the edge of the crowd, Bernadetta stepped silently next to Dorothea. “He’s taking it all so well,” she said, catching Sylvain’s eye and giving him a light wave — a silent promise to check in with him later.

“The whole day has been amazing,” Dorothea replied, lightly clinking her glass to Bernie’s. “I’m just glad everybody was able to make it. Caspar even managed to drag Lin out!” She narrowed her eyes across the room, spotting a tall, slender figure with a familiar head of purple hair. “Wait, is that Lorenz Gloucester? I was under the impression he and Sylvain didn’t get along.”

“Leonie brought him,” Felix chimed in, stepping in from Dorothea’s other side. “I don’t think Sylvain has noticed yet. But it should be entertaining when he does.”

Bernadetta chuckled at that. “You should both try the food if you haven’t already,” she said. “It’s delicious, and I hear the chef came all the way from Fhirdiad to prepare it,” she added. As the words left her lips, a massive man with telltale Duscur features and striking white hair pulled back into a small ponytail approached Sylvain.

“Dedue! Buddy! You made it!” Sylvain cried, giving the other man a huge hug. He turned him towards Dorothea, smiling widely. “Dorothea, this is Dedue Molinero, one of Fhirdiad’s most famous professional chefs. And a good friend of Dimitri,” he added.

“It's good to meet you, Miss Dorothea,” Dedue said, shaking the hand she offered him. She noted how gentle his own were, much more than expected. “From what I hear, you make Sylvain infinitely more bearable,” he added in a lower voice. She giggled at that, noting the way Sylvain’s face turned red. As if remembering something, Dedue added: “Oh yes, and Dimitri sends his regards as well. It’s a shame he couldn’t make it tonight.”

Sylvain shrugged. “Yeah, he called me this morning. Maybe we can gather up the Faerghus gang and video chat him later,” he suggested.

A bright, cheery voice cut through the growing group. “That’s a wonderful idea!” Annette approached and gave Sylvain a quick hug, followed by Mercedes. Dorothea took the growing array of northerners as her cue to step out and search for more folks to mingle with. Maybe she could stall Lorenz and see how long she could delay an (entertaining) argument from breaking out.

Before she could find the aforementioned fop she was waylaid by Hilda, who seemed more interested in speaking to her than Sylvain. “Hey Dorothea,” she sang, sounding tipsy but not quite as drunk as the last time they’d spoken.

“Hello, Hilda,” Dorothea greeted her politely, sipping her drink and waiting for the other girl to inevitably bring up whatever it was she wanted to talk about.

“How’d you like the little column I wrote for you and lover-boy over there?” she asked. “My readers absolutely ate. It. Up. Everybody thinks you two are adorable!”

Dorothea chuckled lightly, feeling more pleased about it than she wanted Hilda to actually know. “I’m sure they do.” She realized she may have sounded too aloof because Hilda was putting on her best puppy dog pout.

“You’re not mad at me, are you?” she asked, a slight whine in her voice. She even threw in a melodramatic sniffle.

“Um, no. I understand the power of good press, and you didn’t write anything _bad_ , per se,” Dorothea explained. “But let’s just assume that everything we talk about from now on is off the record unless otherwise stated, alright?”

That was met with an exasperated but understanding sigh. “I guess we have a deal,” Hilda said. “I’ll just have to seek out... alternative sources.” She pivoted her body toward the crowd gathered around Sylvain, cupping her hands around her mouth. “Hey, Gautier! Happy Birthday, you handsome devil!”

Sylvain called back without even looking at Hilda. “I’m not falling for that again, Hilda. Look for your vapid blog fuel somewhere else!”

That got her properly riled up. “Come say that to my face!” Dorothea moved to calm her down, but Hilda was already marching over to him. “Fine,” she said, cutting in on Sylvain’s conversation with Mercedes. “Now that you’re another year older, I think it’s time to liven up this celebration with some properly embarrassing Sylvain stories,” she announced, attempting to gather more people.

“I really don’t think that’s necessary,” Sylvain pleaded, but Mercedes’ eyes lit up at the prospect. “Mercie, seriously?”

“Oh, I don’t think it’s all that bad, Sylvain,” Mercedes said. “In fact, I’d say that birthdays turning into roasts are somewhat of a Faerghus tradition,” she added.

Ingrid smiled. “I already kicked us off earlier today by telling Dorothea about Sylvain’s old cosplay photos,” she said. Dorothea caught Sylvain’s eyes, and he pleaded with her silently. She smiled sympathetically, but Mercedes was already settling into a dramatic re-telling of her own Sylvain anecdote.

He let out a huff, stepping aside. “Alright, continue if you must. I’m getting another drink,” he said, making his way to the beer cooler at the end of the banquet table. The conversation carried on, but Dorothea watched him leave with a frown.

Felix spoke to her in a low voice. “Uh-oh. This is that moodiness I was talking about earlier.”

The concern grew on her face. “I’ll go talk to him,” she said, excusing herself and striding across the room. Sylvain was fumbling with the bottle opener — one of those novelty ones that are more fun to look at than they are easy to use — when she reached him. “Here, let me get that for you,” she said, gently taking the tool and the beer from his hands. Sylvain stepped aside, watching her gracefully crack it open.

“Ah, thanks, Thea,” he said, his face blank. As if he were actively searching for an appropriate emotion to paint over his current unease with. She handed him the opened beverage, which he took one sip from and then placed back down on the table absent-mindedly. Yes, she’d seen this Sylvain before. Mentally, he was going to that other place; physically, he was finding a spot on the wall to silently observe the party from.

"Hey," she said, placing a hand on his upper arm. "What's wrong?"

Sylvain leaned further against the wall, shoulders slouching forward. It took him a moment to speak. "I'm just… embarrassed by the person I used to be," he said, exhaling. His eyes were on his hands again, or maybe his feet. Dorothea wasn't having it.

"What, because you had a nerdy hobby in high school? You realize I was in theater, right?" she asked, motioning to her whole person. Sylvain shook his head, lifting his neck up to look at her.

"I mean, more than just that," he clarified. "The story about Medea, about nailing the stable hand, about getting so caught up in drinking away my first couple years at university that I lost touch with Ingrid and Felix." A frustrated groan escaped his lips and he slid down to a seat on the floor. Dorothea loomed over him for a moment before dropping to a crouch, looking around nervously to make sure nobody was coming over to check on them.

She let out a sigh of relief when she realized Ingrid wasn't anywhere nearby. This was a situation she felt was best handled by her alone. "Sylvain, let's talk outside. Get you some fresh air," she insisted, tapping his shoulder lightly. He rose quickly, nodded, and stepped out through the nearby door to a patio. "This feels familiar," she muttered to herself. Sylvain had spotted a picnic table near the edge of the stone, a position that gave a perfect view of the mountains as they dimmed slowly in the dusk. He sat on the table section, feet rested on the bench, staring outward.

Dorothea scooted close enough for her shoulder to lean against his, trying not to overwhelm him. He picked up right where they'd been before they stepped out: "That summer… I had just turned eighteen, right after everything went down with Miklan — my brother," he said. "In April I had an acceptance letter from Garreg Mach University and I was excited to study art history or literature or philosophy — something I was passionate about, that could still be acceptable to my folks." Dorothea nodded along, beginning to see where this was going.

"But suddenly, I was the heir to the family and the company, and my interests needed to get put on the back burner. I got seated with more responsibility than I ever expected to have," Sylvain continued. "Needless to say I didn't handle it too well. It made me pretty reckless."

That last statement made her laugh. "It sounds like you were pretty reckless even before that," she said. She inhaled deeply, then released the breath. "Here, join me." She grabbed Sylvain's hand lightly and he followed her as she shifted to sit cross-legged on the table. He mirrored the pose and watched her expectantly.

"Look, you're not the only person who looks back at their past self and has found some aspects… questionable," she began. Her hand rested on her chest, and she tried her best to keep eye contact with him. Which was pretty damn difficult, she quickly realized. "When I started high school, I was still being bounced around from one foster family to another. And I was angry," she said, her knuckles unwittingly clenching. "I channeled it into singing and theater, sure, but some of it leaked out in more unfortunate ways."

Was she experiencing allergies, or were her eyes tearing up?

"I got into fights at school, with my teachers and with other students. I had multiple eating disorders. I cut myself a few times, before I—"

She was interrupted by Sylvain grabbing her bare wrists, his voice frantic: "You hurt yourself?"

Dorothea lowered her eyes, slipping her hands out of his and massaging one of her wrists. "Yes," she confirmed. "I'm surprised you never noticed the scars. It's why I like to wear bracelets so much." She looked up, ready to move on, but Sylvain had other plans. He leaned forward, crawling towards her and pulling her into a tight hug.

The gesture came as a shock and turned her rigid for a moment before she relaxed into his arms, noting how much he was shivering. How much she was shivering, even. Her head rested in the crook of his neck, inhaling him, wondering what made this embrace feel so different from all the others. Why it felt deeper, more vulnerable and raw, and how her chest tightened and her body flooded with warmth.

She let him hold her as long as he felt necessary, and when they finally separated he kept an arm slung around her shoulders. Dorothea couldn't help but laugh. It was apparently contagious, because Sylvain let out a nervous chuckle too.

"Do me a favor," he said, turning his eyes away from her shyly as his brain caught up to his actions. "And promise me you'll never resort to self-harm again, okay? I'm serious."

She had a hunch that this wasn't Sylvain's first experience with the concept, but she didn't want to open that can of worms right now. "I promise," she assured him. "And I haven't since then. My freshman year I was fortunate enough to meet my mentor Manuela, and she got me to actually apply my talent for singing. I got into one of Enbarr's top private schools on an arts scholarship by junior year, where I met Lin and Caspar… and eventually Edelgard and the rest." Her body shifted to better look at him, reaching for his free hand. "None of us are perfect, but we're figuring it out, right?"

Sylvain nodded. "I'm trying to be a better person. I just hope it's enough," he said, his gaze drifting back to the plains. Dorothea placed her finger to his cheek lightly, turning him back to face her. Her mouth had twisted into a sardonic smirk.

"Spare me the guilt, alright? Down that road lies nothing but self-indulgent masochism," she said. Her eyes flashed at him mischievously. "But if you're so hell-bent on seeing your life as a penance, consider me your own personal demon." She tapped her lips, flashing him a fanged smile.

"I can't recall if I've mentioned it already," Sylvain began, returning his own grin as he leaned in toward her. "But your teeth are sexy as hell." His voice dropped to a low whisper as he closed the gap with a kiss, making sure to run his tongue along the sharp tips of her canines before pulling away.

Dorothea brought her fist to her lips, putting on her best announcer voice: "And he's back, ladies and gentlemen!"

He hid his face in his palm, stifling a laugh. "Is this how you feel most of the time?"

She pushed herself off the table, taking a moment to adjust herself. "Your dumb sense of humor must be rubbing off on me," she said, offering her hand to him as he made to follow her. "Let's get back to the party before folks begin to draw their own conclusions, shall we?"

Sylvain slid his hand down her back and into the pocket of her jeans, giving her behind a squeeze. "I mean, I'm open to letting them do that a bit later, maybe," he teased.

They stepped back into the barn to little fanfare; guests were too busy mingling, drinking and dancing. Sylvain appeared happy to not have the extra eyes on him, taking a moment to scan the room. "What the _fuck_ is Lorenz doing here," he muttered, half-sarcastically. Dorothea giggled, dismissing herself to try Dedue's beautifully-presented (and even better tasting, she soon discovered) food and striking up a conversation with Raphael.

Sylvain was eventually discovered again and dragged to the dance floor, where Annette, Ashe and Caspar proceeded to teach him (poorly) some ridiculous maneuvers they'd found online. Leonie greeted him with a slug to the arm, then poured him a shot of whiskey from the bottle she was lugging around. Or maybe it was two — Leonie didn't actually have a glass on hand and deposited the liquor directly into his mouth. As the alcohol made its way down with a satisfying burn, Ingrid found him. "Just a heads-up, it's almost cake time," she whispered.

"Oh hell yes," he said, feeling the room begin to spin. He spied Mercedes approaching the microphone stand which had gone unutilized thus far, handing a large white box off to Felix as she lifted the piece to her mouth.

"Thank you all so much for joining us in celebrating our good friend Sylvain," she said, her voice sugary-sweet — not unlike the cake she'd most certainly baked, Sylvain imagined. "I hope you'll all join us in singing to him," she continued. Felix had procured a lighter and made swift work of the twenty-eight candles sunk into a creamy vanilla frosting. They illuminated the beautiful cursive lettering and colorful flowers decorating the confection.

His friends began serenading him, mostly off-key; he attempted to focus on Dorothea and Annette's clear, sonorous voices in their well-intentioned rendition. When the final chatter died down Sylvain blew the flames out momentously, to an eruption of cheers.

As he watched Mercedes cut the cake he realized he'd lost track of Dorothea. His eyes darted around confusedly — he was positive he'd just heard her singing. Luckily it was only a brief moment of concern as Sylvain felt a light tap on his shoulder, turning to see her with a guitar case slung across her back. "We've got one more thing planned," she said. The room had gone quiet again as she stepped up to the microphone, handing the instrument to a smiling Caspar. "You still remember the chords, right?" she whispered playfully.

Caspar gave a swift nod as he shouldered the guitar, giving it a few test strums. He positioned himself a few feet from Dorothea, who'd made herself comfortable in front of the mic. They exchanged a quick glance and Caspar began playing a soft, subdued progression — Sylvain knew that the real show would begin when Dorothea opened her mouth.

Her green eyes met his, and he was vaguely aware of the lights in the room dimming low. She smiled, waiting patiently for her cue. "It's a little bit funny," she began, drawing the familiar notes out long. "This feeling inside."

He heard a few whoops from the crowd, but they died down quickly as the song continued. Sylvain got lost in her gaze, the way her voice resounded in his ears. It was far from the first time he'd heard her sing — Dorothea had developed a penchant for feeding him soft lullabies as they fell asleep — nor was the quality significantly different from the many performances he'd already attended. But the way the words poured from her lips tonight, the slight sway of her body complimenting the melody had him fully captivated. The people around him melted away; in this moment, Dorothea was singing only for him.

She'd begun slowly, but her voice picked up as the chorus began. "And you can tell everybody," she belted out. "This is your song." Sylvain continued to watch her, swearing he could see traces of vulnerability in her expression, a small remnant from their discussion on the patio. "It may be quite simple but now that it's done…"

Dorothea's voice crescendoed, demanding full attention as her rich tones reached the far corners of the barn. Her gaze fell away from him, eyes closing as she belted out the next line: "I hope you don't mind, I hope you don't mind, that I put down in words…" she drew the line out, looking to Sylvain again with a new softness. Her volume dropped as the guitar cut out, leaving the room in stunned, silent anticipation. "How wonderful life is," she breathed. "Now you're in the world."

The final note hung in the air like a benevolent phantom, a lingering spell that Dorothea weaved into the ether. Sylvain clung to the vibrations, the echo of her voice in his mind, determined to sear it into his memory. He slowly became aware of his friends surrounding them, their low murmurs a backdrop to their stage. Their whispers grew into quiet applause, but Dorothea and Sylvain remained engrossed in each other.

He took a step towards her, ignoring the eyes watching them with full attention — though for once, he wasn't embarrassed by the audience. Dorothea stood statuesque before him, a subtle smile on her face that wedged itself into his heart. It beat into him, a satisfying thrum that shook off some dark shadow that had been stuck there for who knew how long. Sylvain reached a hand out to her, tilting her chin up to keep their gaze unbroken.

"This might be the nicest birthday I've ever had," he said, in a voice so low only the two of them could hear.

Something flashed through Dorothea's eyes. "You're just saying that," she whispered, but the way her smile widened betrayed her true feelings.

"Please just let me say it," he replied, unwilling to play more games with her.

She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, drawing closer. "Alright," she said, and Sylvain sealed her lips against his. A promise, he thought. One he would remember fondly, and hold on the tip of his tongue as they fell asleep later that night, nestled together under the stars.

A promise that, from then on, Sylvain would always feel happy to have been born.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter really got away from me - I didn't mean for it to be so long! But I was excited to get more into the characters' stories and how they all fit into this AU. Thank you all so much for taking the time to read it!


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